


Presque Toujours Pur

by ShayaLonnie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Characters That Died in Canon Survive Because Fanfic Magic, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Het and Slash, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Violence, mentions of non-con elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShayaLonnie/pseuds/ShayaLonnie
Summary: Bellatrix's torture of Hermione uncovers a long-kept secret. The young witch learns her true origins in a story that shows the beginning and end of the Wizarding wars as Hermione learns about her biological father and the blood magic he dabbled in that will control her future. (Complete version is on FFN. I am uploading chapters to Ao3 as I edit them.)Beta Love: Fluffpanda, Nykizta, azuthlu





	1. Pater

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Presque Toujours Pur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509519) by [LyannaMalfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyannaMalfoy/pseuds/LyannaMalfoy)



**April 1998** ****  
**  
** Hermione sat in the first-floor drawing room of Black Manor, staring straight ahead at the large tapestry that hung on the stone wall. It had weathered many generations, protected by strong family magic, and all the names that were magically embroidered in perfect calligraphy still stood out in black stitching among the Slytherin green background.

Raised voices argued in the room next to her. The door was closed, but no Silencing Charm had been cast; she couldn't, for the life of her, comprehend why the people on the other side hadn't thought to do so. The sheer volume and intensity of their shouts were liable to wake the Muggle neighbours, who were currently unaware that a number twelve existed between numbers eleven and thirteen, Grimmauld Place: the Ancient and Noble House of Black.

"I should have been told!" Sirius screamed. His voice was hoarse and emotional; he had been yelling for hours and crying for days prior to the start of this particular argument.

Hermione couldn't be sure exactly what any previous altercations consisted of, as she had been unconscious for most of them.

She had woken up in the guest chamber adjacent to the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, initially not realising where she was. A familiar set of worried emerald green eyes stared back at her from within the darkened room, red-rimmed with dark circles beneath indicating a severe lack of sleep. Harry hadn't slept well for the majority of the year but, then again, none of them had. Constantly being on the move and hunting for Horcruxes didn't allow for proper midday kips and stress-induced insomnia had been detrimental to everyone's health.

"How long?" Hermione whispered.

Harry gripped her hand tightly. "Four days," he muttered softly. "Gods, Hermione, I thought you were . . ." he said, his voice cracking as the memory of her echoing screams floated through his mind.

She reached out, muscles weak, and lightly ruffled his permanently messy black hair until he cracked a smile and tears flowed out in earnest, which was actually what she had been trying to prevent knowing how Harry hated it when people saw him get too emotional. She felt guilty for putting him in such an emotionally fragile state. Taking care of Harry had become second nature to the young witch who had spent six years forcing him and Ron to do their homework, and the better part of a seventh making sure they were eating, even if it was only wild mushrooms and the little bits of fish they were able to catch anytime they found themselves camped near rivers and lakes.

"Did everyone else make it out?" she asked.

Harry frowned. "Dobby," he whispered.

Hermione felt a tight pain in her chest she knew to be grief. It was amazing that she still wasn't numb to the feeling. "Oh, Harry," she said. "I'm so sorry."

"Ron said that Bill and Fleur buried him in the garden of Shell Cottage," he told her. "I haven't been by to visit, but Ron says it's beautiful. Bill carved a headstone and Luna arranged flowers," he said softly. "Ollivander, Griphook, and Dean got out safe as well."

"Why aren't _we_ there?" Hermione asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. "When . . . when everything happened at Malfoy Manor," he said the word with disgust, "Dobby was taking us to Shell Cottage like I told him to but . . . he'd been injured mid-Disapparition and we ended up separating from him and Ron when he . . . I don't know why, but I was holding onto you and I knew I had to take over or else we'd get splinched, so I thought of Grimmauld Place."

They hadn't been to Number Twelve since September. Since they had accidentally led Yaxley, who had tailed them via Apparition, to the steps of Black Manor. Hermione managed to kick the Death Eater off and immediately Apparated herself, Harry, and Ron elsewhere which ended with Ron splinched and their Horcrux hunt delayed several days. Harry had sent a Patronus immediately to Sirius, telling him that Grimmauld Place may have been compromised and to get to safety.

The teenagers had waited for three weeks before the familiar image of a large silvery Grim wisped its way in the opening of their tent, informing them, in Sirius's voice, that he had gotten out in time and, thanks to some clever spell-work which he "wasn't at liberty to discuss" (which could only mean illegal and very likely in the grey tones of light and Dark Magic), that the Ancient and Noble House of Black was safe once more.

They had sent word back telling Harry's godfather of their safety and nothing more. Grimmauld Place had been a decent hideout in the beginning, but they had put it, and Sirius, at risk far too easily just by staying there when they should have been out, physically tracking down Horcruxes. Eight months since the official beginning of the hunt and they were only one locket down. Hermione had wondered to herself how long it had taken Dumbledore to figure out how to destroy the Gaunt ring. Despite not knowing that it had been a Horcrux as well, it had taken Harry a full school year to destroy Tom Riddle's diary — though it hadn't been in his possession the entire time — but going off of those numbers didn't bode well for the rest of the Horcruxes. They couldn't very well spend the next three to four years on the run trying to destroy the dark vessels in the hopes that Voldemort didn't destroy their world in the process.

"Why Grimmauld Place?" she asked curiously. "Why not Shell Cottage? We were already supposed to have been going there."

Harry frowned and reached out to wrap one of Hermione's curls around his finger, a habit he fell into whenever he was nervous, "I . . . I guess I was thinking of Sirius," he whispered.

Hermione winced as memories of Malfoy Manor flashed through her mind.

* * *

_"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback," Bellatrix ordered the deranged werewolf._

_"Wait." The wicked witch hesitated, her heavy-lidded eyes staring at Hermione. "All except_ . . . _except for the Mudblood."_

 _They had been on the run for so long, tired and broken and one small slip of the tongue and Snatchers were at their doorstep — or tent flap as it was. Hermione had hastily thrown up a series of complex wards to keep them out while she turned and began altering their features. Her own would have been easily looked over had her face not been plastered all over the_ Daily Prophet _for months labelling her a known Muggle-born associate of Harry Potter, but Ron and Harry's features were unavoidably recognisable. While there were redheads all over Wizarding Britain, that vibrant shade of red, paired with specific facial features spoke only of the Weasleys. In addition to Harry's scar, his ethereal, emerald green eyes were a dead giveaway._

_She had changed her own hair to a dirty-blond and adjusted the shape of her nose, gave Ron a head of brown hair, and altered Harry's eye colour to brown before she tried to glamour the scar on his forehead. Nothing happened. In a panic, as the Snatchers gave up on taking down the wards and had resorted to ripping through them, Hermione had hit him in the face with a Stinging Hex, muttering apologies to her best friend as a hideous werewolf descended upon them all._

_The glamours hadn't been strong enough. They had still been partially recognised by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, but Bellatrix had called for Draco to confirm their identities. Hermione felt bile rise in her throat as the insane witch grabbed her nephew by the back of the skull and shoved him so close to Hermione's face that her vision was filled with nothing except the trademark molten silver eyes of Draco Malfoy._

_When Bellatrix finally let Malfoy out of her personal bubble, she took the opportunity to really look at him. Draco looked much worse than when she last saw him, as he fled from Hogwarts on the heels of Severus Snape, Harry screaming, "Murderer!" behind them. Draco had looked terrible for most of sixth year, and while Harry had spent the majority of time at school insisting that Malfoy was a Death Eater plotting a plot most terrible (which, apparently, he_ had _been), Hermione took notice of the way the Slytherin's clothes hung off his body too loosely, how he never ate in the Great Hall, rarely spoke in class, and during Prefect rounds she had caught him hyperventilating more than once in dark alcoves._

_Now, he looked much worse. Sickly thin and pale with dark circles under his stress-induced, red-rimmed eyes, the Slytherin stared at her with obvious recognition and swallowed hard, taking a moment to presumably come up with a lie. Apparently, the best that he could summon at that moment was, "I can't be sure. It might be them, but I'm not certain."_

_Regardless, Hermione appreciated the lie. Considering the worried looks on Bellatrix and the elder Malfoy's faces, they would have needed to be one-hundred percent certain before summoning Voldemort and Hermione was grateful for the seedling of doubt that Draco had planted in their minds. Unfortunately, with a certain famous sword discovered in their possession and Bellatrix Lestrange determined to get back in the good graces of her Dark Lord, they were not even close to seeing the clearing of the woods._

_Harry and Ron were taken away, screaming and pleading to stay in exchange for the witch. "No!" Harry was yelling, fighting against the grip of the werewolf. "Take me instead!" Ron had shouted as they dragged him away into the cellar of Malfoy Manor. Even Draco seemed to twitch in understanding of what was to happen to the young Muggle-born witch, but whatever he might have thought to do to stop his aunt, his parents were gripping his arms to keep him still and silent, Lucius digging fingernails into the skin of his son in anxious anticipation._

_The first Crucio felt like death._

_The second made her pray for it._

_But it wasn't until Bellatrix's frustration began to peak that things took a genuine turn for the worse. Determined to find out who exactly she was dealing with, the unhinged witch had aimed her wand at Hermione and began to dismantle the glamours she had put on herself, spell by spell. Any normal witch or wizard with a decent understanding of transfiguration could have ended the visual trickery easily, but Bellatrix Lestrange's thirst for control and desire to witness agony led her to do it as painfully as possible._

_It felt like she had clawed her way into Hermione's magical core and began picking it away, looking for physical traits and casting them aside, piece by piece until the truth revealed itself. When she had apparently broken through the glamour, what she saw only enraged the witch further._

_"What are you playing at little girl?!" the woman had screamed. "You dare mock me?!"_

_Hermione was beyond exhausted, sobbing, and could not understand what conclusion Bellatrix's insane mind had drawn together._

_"I'll teach you_ . . . _" the older witch snarled and then Hermione felt a stabbing pain in her arm. Thankfully, it wasn't long after that she had been rescued by her friends and taken to safety. To the safety of Grimmauld Place._

* * *

"My . . ." She looked down to her forearm which was now bandaged. "Harry . . . what happened?" she asked her friend.

Harry decided the best way to breach the subject was by visual representation. He reached into the drawer of the bedside table and removed a mirror from within, handing it slowly to the witch who snatched it from his grip, bringing it to her face. She didn't know why it hadn't shocked her to see it. Bellatrix's reaction to the broken glamours might have been a clue, but as Hermione took in her sudden abundance of black curls and grey eyes, she understood, at least in part, what had happened.

Somehow when the insane witch had broken Hermione's glamours, she had done something else, revealing the colouring that Hermione now wore. While Hogwarts didn't offer classes in biology and genetics, Hermione understood enough of the principles and the magical theories to know that certain traits solely belonged to certain families. A specific shade of red and freckles meant Weasley; golden blond hair and blue eyes made you a Greengrass; crimson hair and blue eyes led to the Bones family tree; dark skin and green eyes belonged to the Zabinis; and white-blond hair and silver eyes told the world that you were a Malfoy.

Inkjet black hair and grey eyes distinguished a witch or wizard from all others, proudly proclaiming one's blood linked to the Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Harry helped her to stand, her hands shaking slightly as she put the mirror down on the bed and stood to her feet. Her best friend led her into the drawing room to face the infamous Black family tapestry. It hadn't taken her long to see it and when she did her breath caught in her throat and Harry needed to support her weight as her knees buckled.

He wrapped her in his arms as he lowered her to the ground, sitting with her, kissing the top of her head as he whispered, "Your arm wouldn't stop bleeding and when we got here . . . Sirius carried you up the stairs and you bled a lot on the floor. The . . . the house is magical and sentient in itself. Charmed like Hogwarts to recognise certain things and . . . people."

"Blood wards," Hermione mumbled.

Harry nodded.

"Kreacher actually healed you," he said, gesturing to her arm.

She turned and stared at the boy incredulously, her newly discovered grey eyes were wide.

"He's calling you his special Young Miss," Harry said, cringing at the memory of the house-elf cooing over his best friend. Whispers of, " _Young Miss_ , _special Young Miss,"_ echoed as he had watched the Elf Magic heal the cuts on Hermione's arm. When Kreacher saw the angry red words and scarring that was left behind, Harry witnessed the house-elf punish himself, almost creating a dent in the marble fireplace mantle. Harry couldn't decide which he preferred, Kreacher calling Hermione "the little Mudblood" or "special Young Miss". He shuddered at the memory of the house-elf caressing the word carved on her arm, muttering beneath his breath. If there had been any silver lining it was that the curtains covering Walburga Black's portrait had remained shut, and Kreacher hadn't cried out for his "poor Mistress" once since he had started tending to Hermione.

Sirius and Snape burst through the door, continuing to yell at one another until each man turned to stare at Hermione and Harry there on the floor in the drawing room. Neither said a word. Snape looked positively wrathful and Sirius had obviously been crying. The current Headmaster of Hogwarts and accused murderer of Albus Dumbledore gave each of his former students a curt nod before stepping into the adjacent bedroom. Sirius gave Hermione a pained smile before following after Snape, slamming the door behind him.

"Is . . . is Sirius angry?" Hermione asked, trying to prevent the tears from falling down her cheeks.

Harry shook his head. "Not at . . . and not about . . . he's just . . ." Harry sighed and scratched his head. "He's mad that it was kept from him," he said.

Almost on cue, the screaming between the grown wizards began again.

"We need to figure out the next Horcrux," Hermione whispered and moved to stand.

Harry's grip tightened as he held her down. "Absolutely not," he said. "You were tortured Hermione, and . . . and I don't think you should even be moving much until you're fully recovered. Don't look at me like that, I . . . I told them. I told the Order what we've been trying to do."

Hermione gasped. "Harry!"

"I don't care," he said. "I know Dumbledore said that only the three of us could know but . . . after everything that's happened, I think secrets for this supposed ‘Greater Good' has done nothing but hurt people," he said, frowning. "After we escaped, the Malfoys summoned Riddle . . . there was a big Death Eater meeting where everyone was told what happened. Snape found out and came straight here. He knew," Harry told her. "He brought you potions and a bunch of books; I'm not sure what they are," he admitted. "But he's left his post at Hogwarts with some kind of lie to the Death Eaters, and he told the Order some things about how Dumbledore really died."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Harry, you told me you saw him kill —"

Harry sighed. "I . . . there's a lot more to it than what I saw . . . apparently."

"So Snape's . . .?"

"A good guy," Harry said almost disappointedly.

"And Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"Still a ferrety git," Harry answered. "But he didn't give us away so . . . I don't know." He frowned.

"So the two of you will soon become best friends?" she tried to joke.

Harry laughed. "How are you . . ." he began to say and then sighed. "Are you okay? I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm sure once _those two_ are done screaming at one another, they'll answer whatever questions you have."

Hermione nodded. "I . . . I had a feeling something was . . . wrong," she admitted. "When I Obliviated . . ." she swallowed. "Last summer, when I Obliviated my p-parents," her voice wavered as she collected her emotions and thoughts, "I felt that something was wrong. I meant to only alter their memories with a charm, nothing permanent," she confessed, "but when I started layering the magic, I found things. They had already had their memories altered by someone else. I couldn't see what exactly, but they were specific and it took me a while, but I was able to trace the origin of the charm back years."

"How long?" Harry asked.

"I can't pinpoint a specific day but . . ." she frowned, "I would say close to the end of 1981."

Harry's eyes widened with a bit of understanding. "You think this happened because of me?" he asked, horrified.

"Of course not," she insisted. "Even if it has something to do with what happened to _your_ parents," she told him, "It's not your fault. I really wish you would stop blaming the entire war on you. You're not Tom Riddle's endgame, Harry, you're the mountain that's preventing him from destroying everything we know and love. It's not your fault."

Harry nodded solemnly but turned away from her gaze. "So . . . what happened with your parents?" he asked a moment later.

"The Memory Charms were too deep. I couldn't alter them without erasing it all," she muttered, swallowing down her emotions. "That's why I chose to Obliviate them. Permanently."

Harry reached for her hand. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"It'll keep them safe," she whispered. "So . . . tell me about the plan. How is the Order involved?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Well, another Horcrux is destroyed," he told her. "When we got here, you were out of it, but you kept muttering something about Bellatrix's vault. Snape confirmed that she thought the Sword of Gryffindor was in her vault, but that something else might be hidden away as well. The Order had Tonks morph herself to look like Bellatrix. I'm not sure of all the details of how they got it out without being found, but Tonks had burns all over her body when they brought her back. Turned out to be Hufflepuff's Cup, like we thought. Sirius was the one to destroy it. Said he really wanted to stab something." He shrugged.

"And the others?" Hermione asked.

"Snape thinks it could be the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. He's got McGonagall and the D.A. looking for it while he's here," Harry told her. "The last, we think, is the snake."

"Where's Ron?" she asked.

Harry winced. "He . . . he's a little freaked out about . . ." he made a vague gesture to her face, "Well, you know he's not the most tactful person. We thought it would be a little better if he stayed at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur until he figured out how to talk to you."

Hermione frowned. "Because I'm different."

"Because you _look_ different," Harry corrected her.

Hermione sighed loudly. "No, I'm . . . oh gods," she muttered. "I'm a _pureblood_." She swallowed the word down like sand. "From a family that . . . that . . ." She looked down at her arm. "And she . . ." She reached out and touched the bandage on her arm. "Well," she frowned, "I'm not a Mudblood anymore," she said bitterly.

"You never were," Harry said, glaring at her use of the word. "You're just Hermione."

"Why is Professor Snape here?" Hermione asked, changing the subject. "I mean, he brought me potions and books but —"

Harry shrugged. "Apparently, he knew the truth."

"This whole time?"

"Well, Sirius has been screaming at him for the better part of four days," Harry said. "It's only now that Snape's finally started yelling back actually," he added, looking at the closed door of the bedroom where the Potions Master and Animagus were still shouting.

"—I should have been told!" Sirius screamed, his voice hoarse and emotional. "How could you keep a bloody secret like this for so long?! She's nearly nineteen-years-old!"

"Well," Snape drawled, "unlike _you_ , Black, I actually _keep secrets_ ," hissing out the last words with emphasis. "I don't just toss them aside to the first blubbering idiot I think can —"

The distinct sound of fist on flesh echoed from behind the heavy wood. What sounded like a noisy scuffle followed by colourful lights of hexes emitted from the seam around the door, the bright light of a _Petrificus Totalus_ filtered under the crack near the floor, followed by a loud thud and the room went silent.

Sirius exited, shutting the door behind him and pocketing his wand as he slowly approached the pair of teenagers, kneeling down in front of them, running his hand nervously through his hair. He smiled sadly at Hermione and reached out to brush the edge of his knuckles affectionately against her cheek.

"Hey, little girl," he whispered, "You had us scared there for a while."

The tears finally came to her eyes and she blinked, allowing them to fall against her cheeks. "Is it true?" she asked him even though she already knew the answer.

Sirius wiped the back of his hand against his own eyes and nodded silently before reaching out and pulling the witch into his arms, letting her sob into his shoulder. "It's all right, Hermione," he said, stroking her black curls tenderly. "Everything's going to be fine," he promised. "You and I . . . we're going to be fine and we're going to find out everything."

"You're not mad?" she asked.

"At _you_ ? Whatever for?" He chuckled softly. "I'm bloody _thrilled_ about _you_. Pissed about not knowing," he admitted as he pulled away from her, "I'm pissed about a lot of things that were kept from me," he said softly and leant forward, kissing her forehead. "I'm just glad you're alive and there's a little piece of . . ." his words stuck in his throat. "I'm just glad you're alive," he said.

"I don't . . . I don't even know what to call you anymore," she admitted awkwardly.

Sirius smirked. "Sirius is fine," he said softly. "You're a little too old to start calling me Uncle, I think," he admitted and pulled her again into his arms.

She blinked tears away again, her blurry vision focused on the tapestry on the wall behind Sirius where her name sat in elegant lettering.

 _Hermione Astra Black  
_ _September 19, 1979_

Her gaze followed the line that flowed from her up to her father:

Regulus Arcturus Black  
May 12, 1961  
d. May 31, 1979

 


	2. Fides

**April 1973**

Regulus stood in the first-floor drawing room of Black Manor, staring straight ahead at the large tapestry that hung on the stone wall. It had weathered many generations, protected by strong family magic, and all the names that were magically embroidered in perfect calligraphy; his own being the most recent even though he was already eleven-years-old, twelve in a month's time. The names all stood out in black stitching amongst the Slytherin green background. He had always found the colour comforting, not cold like his brother always claimed it to be. Raised voices argued in the room next to him. The door was closed, but no Silencing Charm had been cast, but really, when did his parents ever actually bother with one?

"You can't do that!" Sirius was yelling. "She didn't do anything wrong!"

"She has disgraced her family and our noble blood!" their mother shouted back at him.

Regulus stepped closer to the tapestry, a subtle frown on his face as he reached up and gently brushed his fingertips over the scorched mark that used to read  _Andromeda_.

"It's not fair!" Sirius shouted and Regulus winced. "You can't just throw away family!"

When would his brother begin to understand that nothing in life was fair? Brave and reckless, certainly, but there had to be at least an ounce of common sense in every Gryffindor. How else would they have even survived long enough to even make it to Hogwarts?

The youngest Black turned his back on the tapestry, the smell of the burnt silk fresh and lingering in the air; it made his stomach churn to have watched his mother turn and blast the name so easily off the Family Tree as if she was banishing something as simple as a doxy off the wall. He felt sick to know that across London in another one of the Black Manors, his Uncle Cygnus, Andromeda's father, was doing the same to the duplicate tapestry in his home. Regulus thought it was redundant considering the tapestries were all magically linked, but his Uncle Cygnus was likely making a point to his daughters, just as Walburga and Orion Black had made the point to him and Sirius.

The message was clear: Don't marry Mudbloods.

And for the love of Salazar, don't even  _think_ about  _breeding_ with them.

"You can't throw someone out of the family for falling in love!" Sirius was yelling again. "What if it were me or Regulus that fell in love with a—" He never finished the sentence. Though there was no loud sound from behind the door save for a slight scuffle, Regulus had learned over the years what the  _small_ noises meant.

Despite disagreeing with the way Sirius was going about it, Regulus agreed with his brother. Certainly, they had been raised with blood standards that were always to be observed—unless your name was Sirius Black—but blasting Andromeda off the tree and disinheriting her completely seemed excessive. Regulus knew little in matters of the heart, but he had seen the older couples at Hogwarts, most of whom looked as though they had lost entire sections of their brains just by being within sight of the witch or wizard they desired. Clearly, there was little control when it came to who you fell in love with.

He never thought he would have to worry about it. He had been told on his fourth birthday—when his magic first manifested—that one day he would grow up and marry his cousin Narcissa, Uncle Cygnus's youngest daughter, who was just a few years older than Regulus himself. It wasn't until he was eight that he truly understood what "marry" meant, and at the time it hadn't seemed so bad. When he turned eleven and got the pre-Hogwarts talk, he finally learned what the actual purpose of marriage actually was: setting political alliances, money, and reputation aside, it all came down to strengthening and furthering the pure blood lines. Suddenly, marrying Narcissa seemed a bit more bothersome.

They only saw one another while growing up at family functions, and even then, most of the attention had been on Sirius and Andromeda who were being coerced into a betrothal themselves, though Andromeda was fighting it tooth and nail, much to Sirius's great relief. It was, however, the reason that Regulus and Narcissa were contracted at such a young age; it was much easier to control children when they didn't know there was anything to fight back against.

He loved Narcissa, but in a sisterly way, which made the idea of  _breeding_ with her in the future positively horrific, but he wasn't as bold or brash as his brother and would never consider saying such things aloud. Leave the dramatics to Sirius and Andromeda. Of course, he wouldn't exactly be seeing Andromeda anytime soon, if ever again. Nor would he ever get the chance to meet her daughter, a half-blood Metamorphmagus that she named Nymphadora.

He had seen his brother pocket the photograph of the tiny purple-haired infant knowing, without a doubt, that the bruises he would wear back to Hogwarts would likely match the little girl's hair if he got caught with it. Sirius didn't appear to give a damn, though, as he decided to say loudly in the other room, and he never had no matter what the consequences had been.

And the consequences had  _always_ been dire.

Growing up in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Their parents only ever handed out affection when they were in public, and even then it was only ever given to Sirius who was the wonderful heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Except when he wasn't behaving like the wonderful heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, in which case they had Regulus: the wonderful  _spare_. It wasn't until Sirius went to Hogwarts that Walburga and Orion even considered really putting effort into raising their younger son, but when Sirius had written home after the Sorting, it was ready, set, go for Project Scion Swap.

Regulus had been heartbroken that his brother, his best friend, would leave to Hogwarts a year ahead of him. Despite their father telling them that boys didn't cry—and they certainly didn't hug one another, especially in public—it took both parents to separate the pair at King's Cross. Sirius knelt down in front of his younger brother and wiped the tears from Regulus's face as the scarlet steam train whistled its warnings of departure.

"Look for my owl; I'll write to you every week, Reg," Sirius promised him with a bright grin that made him look completely out of place among his family at all times, "and once you get to Hogwarts, we're going to have so much fun. I promise I won't even care that you're a year younger. I'll sneak you into my dorm and it'll be just like at home only better. You and me, Reg," he had smiled, "the Black brothers are going to conquer Hogwarts. They'll be talking about our adventures for centuries."

Sharing a dorm would never happen, of course. Sirius had taken three weeks to finally owl home; when the letter did finally arrive, Walburga had sent a Howler back in its place.

"You can hardly blame the boy for what a charmed Hat says," Orion had tried to calm his wife down, a glass of firewhisky in his hand to help dull the ache in his head that Walburga's current volume had created.

"Don't you  _dare_ try to let him off the hook for this!" she had screamed back. "I  _know_ he did something. He must have done something to disgrace our family this way."

 _Gryffindor._  Centuries of grand green and silver tradition broken by a single boy who their mother said was far too disrespectful, too reckless, and too sentimental. They shouldn't have coddled him so much. They shouldn't have let him outside so often. They, perhaps, shouldn't have let the boys spend so much time together. They had instilled courage in their eldest son by letting him be protective over his younger brother and Blacks weren't supposed to be protectors, they were self-preservationists. Family first, and that didn't mean one another, it meant the name, the motto, the  _blood_. Regulus would need to be educated from scratch. Sirius would need to be reminded his place.

When Sirius returned home for Christmas holidays he was a full Gryffindor; a lion in and out which was ironic considering it had been Regulus that was named after the brightest star in the Leo constellation. "Rubbish!" his mother had said. "Star or not, your name means 'Basilisk' in Latin; King of the serpents!" Serpent, unlike his brother, the disgraceful lion who was already being labelled a blood-traitor simply because a shoddy old hat told him that he would sleep in a tower and not a dungeon for the next seven years.

Sirius had been stubborn and proud and, even at only twelve, he was eager to argue back and defend his new House loyalties. He openly talked about his new friends with a joyful look on his face that their mother said made him look embarrassingly effeminate. Sirius ignored her and went on and on about James Potter ("Disgusting son of blood-traitors!"), Remus Lupin ("Wasn't his father a wizard from a good family who threw away his future when he married a Muggle?"), and Peter Pettigrew ("Who?"). By the time Sirius was bragging about Albus Dumbledore—who he said was the greatest wizard since Merlin—and Professor McGonagall—who he knew had a Hogwarts rivalry with Walburga when they had attended school together and, therefore, should know better than to mention her name—both of their parents were officially done with their eldest's smart mouth and blood-traitor language.

Christmas that year had been spent in St. Mungo's after there had been an "accident" where Sirius "fell" down three flights of stairs. Regulus had been forced to open his presents at the foot of Sirius's hospital bed while his brother looked on, drowsy from Pain Potions as their mother told him that only  _good_ boys received gifts. Summer was worse when Sirius worked his way around the underage magic rule by nicking their father's wand and charming the walls of his room Gryffindor red. Another trip to St. Mungo's had Sirius drinking down Skele-Gro after he "fell from his broom" and broke three ribs and his collarbone.

Memories of the bruises, broken bones, and welts on his brother's body flooded Regulus's mind when he was brought into the Great Hall beside the other first years. He stared out into the crowd and found Sirius's face immediately, grinning, waving, and throwing him a thumbs up.

"Black, Regulus!" Professor McGonagall called his name and gestured to the stool in the front of the room.

When he slowly made his way to sit down he was shaking and terrified, trying to hold it all in so as not to appear completely frightened. No need to be called a cry-baby on the first night in whatever House he ended up in.  _Not brave_ , he thought to himself.  _I'm definitely not brave_.

 _You could be_ , the Sorting Hat said inside his mind.  _You have great potential to be very brave and bold. I see greatness in you. Your heart is large and loyal to those you care about, and your concern for others is astounding. I wonder what brave things you could accomplish when that bold love is properly directed?_

 _I don't want it_ , Regulus had pleaded, thinking of the way Sirius had finally broken down and cried in the middle of the night long after their parents had locked him in his room to nurse his wounds two weeks before they had been taken to Kings Cross. Sirius had fought back at every turn, appearing stubborn and angry, but the moment he was alone, he quietly sobbed, cradling his injuries in private.

Regulus tried like hell to get in to help his brother, but their mother had locked the door with magic and, even if Sirius had been allowed to use it outside of Hogwarts, she had taken his wand too. So Regulus quietly sat outside of Sirius's bedroom, whispering what words of comfort he could think of that might not get him hit too hard if their parents caught him. When Sirius had finally fallen asleep, Regulus closed his eyes and wished that he knew the kind of magic that would give them both a different family; one without expectations and rules based on blood and Houses and the colour of robes you wore to class.

 _Slytherin, please, just put me in Slytherin,_  Regulus begged.

"Better be . . . SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shouted.

Regulus let out a deep sigh of relief and scanned the Great Hall until his gaze fell on a matching pair of grey eyes sitting beneath red and gold banners. Sirius frowned and looked down, clearly devastated. A lanky boy with sandy-blond hair next to him patted him on the back consolingly; two other boys sitting across from him—one short and a bit portly, the other tall with a head of messy black hair—pushed a couple boxes of Chocolate Frogs toward their friend to cheer him up.

Regulus slowly made his way to the Slytherin table where he was politely welcomed and sat down beside a second year with a curtain of black hair hiding away a scowl, the only thing easily visible was a hooked nose that wasn't proportionate to the rest of his face.

"Black?" the boy asked, sneering at Regulus.

Regulus nodded.

"Are you related to the Gryffindor prat?"

Regulus cleared his throat, remembering that, while he wasn't brave like Sirius, he couldn't show fear, not in Slytherin or else be labelled weak. "My brother," he said firmly. "Is there a problem?" he asked, narrowing his gaze.

The older boy rolled his black eyes and looked away, a bitter expression on his face. "Not unless you're anything like him."

 _No_ , Regulus thought sadly,  _I'm nothing like Sirius._

The bedroom door finally opened from the next room and Sirius was wiping blood from his mouth looking wrathful but sufficiently subdued when it came to speaking to his parents. There was nothing to be done to spare Andromeda from being disowned. He slammed the large wooden door behind him and walked straight up to Regulus, gripping him by the shoulders. "She's still our cousin, do you hear me?" he said firmly. "I don't give a shite what some stupid wall says; Dromeda's still family. A giant piece of fabric does not get to tell me who my family is,  _I_  say who my family is. You agree with me, right?" he asked his younger brother, unaware that his lip was bleeding again.

Regulus frowned at the sight, wondering how his older brother was able to endure such pain. The beatings weren't as bad as they could be, he imagined. Though there wasn't much confirmation, they had both overheard their parents talking to one another about how Cygnus—or Bellatrix, as was her want to do—had put Andromeda under the Cruciatus Curse when they had discovered her elopement and secret half-blood child.

"Sirius why . . . why can't you just shut up and look down like you're supposed to?" he asked, staring at the swelling on his brother's lip. "Next, she'll blast  _you_ off," he whispered. "You can't let her do it," Regulus said firmly, not wanting to admit that he was afraid such a thing would actually happen and  _he_ would be left in Sirius's place. "Just . . . just stay quiet for the next couple of years and you'll be out of here."

Sirius shook his head. "I'm not a coward," he insisted.

Regulus flinched at the statement, despite knowing that Sirius hadn't said it as a way of calling out his brother on his own cowardice. "Why does it always come down to bravery?" Regulus asked bitterly.

"Why does it always come down to saving your own arse?" Sirius snapped back. "Fine, she's not your cousin anymore. Am  _I_  still your brother? Because Dromeda's still on  _my_ family tree. Fuck  _that_ one," he said, snarling at the tapestry.

Swearing and anger aside, Regulus knew Sirius was hurting. Andromeda had been the perfect pureblood daughter, right up until the moment that she wasn't. She had been sorted into Slytherin like a proper Black, trained up knowing all the customs and traditions and expectations and, until the moment that she and Sirius started fighting back about their arranged marriage, she had followed each and every rule. Then she had apparently met a Hufflepuff Muggle-born named Edward Tonks and all the pureblood education she spent seventeen years learning went right out the window along with her maiden name and inheritance. So if Andromeda, who had up until the last moment been the perfect pureblood daughter, had been cast aside so easily, what did that mean for Sirius, who had been fighting against his birthright practically from birth?

"You'll always be my brother," Regulus whispered the promise.

"Not unless he shapes up!" their mother said as she walked out of the room, glaring her grey eyes down at her eldest child with a hate that Regulus only saw at Hogwarts when Slytherin faced Gryffindor in Quidditch. Sirius turned and glared back up at their mother and then without another word, turned, punched the family tree and walked out of the room.

Their father exited the room behind Walburga, a glass of firewhisky in his hand as though someone had put it there with a Permanent Sticking Charm, looking annoyed and weary. Orion's eyes fell briefly on his wife before he sighed irritably and followed his eldest son out of the room.

"You, my sweet boy," Walburga said as she turned to face her youngest with a sudden smile on her face that actually looked painful and caused Regulus to wince in sympathy. "One day you will be the Head of this glorious House and it will be your job to keep filth away from our family, do you understand me? Toujours Pur, Regulus," she said to him, reaching forward and grabbing his jaw in her hand.

"But . . ." Regulus began, "I'm not the heir," he said. "Sirius will be the Head of—"

" _You_ ," Walburga hissed, her eyes narrowing, "will be the Head of our Ancient and Noble House and it will be your job to keep filth from the family, do you understand me?" she asked again, her fingernails digging into his jawline; he could feel the bruises beginning to form beneath the surface of his skin.

Regulus swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."

"Not just Mudbloods and Muggles," she insisted. "Blood-traitors are just as bad, do you understand?" she asked. "Bring  _any_ of their lot into the House of Black and it will defile everything we have worked so hard for . . . centuries of purity, all gone!" her voice raised and Regulus forced himself not to flinch. "Toujours Pur, Regulus," she snapped, shaking him by the grip on his face, her nails digging further into his skin as she silently indicated he was to repeat her words.

"Toujours Pur, Mother," Regulus said quietly.

"There's my good boy." She grinned. "Go and get ready for the party now dear," she said and patted him affectionately on the shoulder as though she had not just nearly assaulted him as she would Sirius. "Your Uncle Cygnus isn't going to let one nasty little blood-traitor ruin Narcissa's big day. Of course, it should be  _your_ big day as well, but apparently the little trollop couldn't wait a few more years for you to come of age," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically, a bitter scowl on her face.

"It's alright, Mother," Regulus said irritably, already tired of defending his decision on the matter. "I didn't want to marry Cissa anyway. Besides, she's in love with Lucius and I just want her to be happy."

Walburga beamed at him. "See? And  _that's_ why you would have made a wonderful husband for her. Still, I imagine breaking the contract wasn't  _your_ idea?"

Regulus shook his head. "No, ma'am."

"I hope you got something good for your sacrifice," she huffed.

Regulus held back from cringing.

When he had stepped foot inside the Slytherin Dungeons for the first time and Professor Slughorn gave an "inspirational" welcome speech, he had been reunited with his future bride and then introduced to her boyfriend, a fifth year Prefect named Lucius Malfoy who shook Regulus's hand, said that they would sit down and talk things out very soon, and then officially introduced him to Severus Snape, the black-haired boy he had sat down beside in the Great Hall, who was apparently now in charge of showing Regulus how things worked in the House of Salazar.

He didn't hear another word directly from Lucius until Narcissa's fifteenth birthday when she had shown up in the Slytherin Common Room with an emerald necklace hung around her slender neck. All the girls squealed loudly and the boys patted Lucius on the back, which Regulus thought strange considering, by pureblood customs, jewellery of  _that_ magnitude meant something quite serious.

Everything made sense when Lucius had taken him aside and showed him an old spell that he and Narcissa had found allowing a marriage contract to be broken by both willing parties without the approval of their parents, which Regulus knew he would certainly  _not_ get from his mother who had been fawning over Narcissa and insisting that her niece call her "Mum" for years now.

However, Cygnus wanted the world to know that Bellatrix and Narcissa were nothing like Andromeda, and so Bellatrix had been immediately married off to the eldest of the Lestrange family and, despite the arrangement with Regulus, Narcissa had been encouraged to entangle herself further into the wealthy and Noble House of Malfoy which paralleled the House of Black in money and purity. It hadn't been much of a sacrifice on Cissa's part; it was clear to anyone at Hogwarts that she worshipped the very ground that Lucius walked on, which either meant that she genuinely did love him, or she was an exceptionally good actress; Regulus believed it was a bit of both.

The spell appeared like a simple blood sacrifice, not something most children of the House of Black were unaccustomed to participating in, but there were a few bits of the untranslated portion that left him feeling uneasy. Still, Lucius was insistent and imposing and Narcissa looked utterly besotted with him. Regulus hadn't even thought about girls in any context other than classmates, unlike Sirius, who he had caught multiple times in the corridors sniffing after witches like a dog after a bone.

What did it matter to  _him_ to break the marriage contract?

"What do I get out of this?" Regulus asked, looking up at Lucius who towered over him, but Regulus stood firm, showing no signs of fear. He was a Slytherin and would be damned if his bride—desired or not—would be stolen away from him without proper compensation. He would be forced to endure whatever wrath from his parents would come down upon him over breaking the contract and, aside from the legalities of the spell that ensured promises of furthering the lineage of both parties, Regulus saw clearly that he was receiving the poor end of the deal.

"What would you like?" Lucius asked with a grin, apparently pleased that the young Slytherin hadn't just rolled over and accepted the theft of his prize, a prize that Lucius clearly coveted.

Regulus thought for a moment about the things that were important to him. He had all the money in the world and didn't need anything from Malfoy in that respect. Had it been anyone other than Lucius asking for Narcissa's hand, Regulus would have insisted that she be treated properly and adored as she deserved, but the way the blond wizard caressed her neck—even in front of Regulus—made it clear that Narcissa would be treasured as a Malfoy bride. That left only one thing . . .

"The House of Salazar is to leave my brother alone," he demanded. "He's already been sent to the Hospital Wing twice this year because of random hexing in the halls and on the Pitch."

Lucius scoffed. "He's a Gryffindor."

"He's my brother and the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black," Regulus said firmly, sounding much older than his eleven years. "An attack on him is a disrespect to my entire family, our name, and our blood. I give a hair over what colours he wears here at Hogwarts."

"Snape won't like it," Lucius reminded him. "And I can only offer protection so long as I'm here," he insisted. "Once I graduate, it ends."

Regulus nodded. "Understood."

"You realise you're basically giving Sirius Black a free pass to attack anyone in your own House without retribution, correct?" Lucius asked him clearly. "When my protection ends, they will remember everything he did and the wrath will come down on him ten-fold."

Regulus hesitated as he pondered the ability to rein in his brother's antics. The pranks were one thing, but Sirius held a genuine dislike for all Slytherins—save for Regulus. The boy still nodded. "Let's end this marriage contract, cousin," he said, smiling up at Narcissa.


	3. Memoria

**April 1998**

The side effects of being under the Cruciatus Curse lasted much longer than many would have thought. A combination of Bellatrix's expertise in the specific curse paired with the length of time Hermione had been under it, made it near impossible for the little witch to be left alone at night. The first time she'd had a seizure in her sleep, Kreacher had woken the entire house, screaming for someone to help his special Young Miss. Elf magic could heal, certainly, and Kreacher had done his best with the grotesque carving on her arm, but some things were best left to potions and time, both of which were necessary for Hermione's recovery.

Snape did what he could, moving back and forth between Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place, grateful that the students had yet to return to the school from Easter holidays, giving him a mild reprieve from his duties as Headmaster. Voldemort was on a hunt for something, the Elder wand if Harry was to be believed, and the Death Eaters were left to their own devices while their master was on his own mission. Unfortunately, that meant a lot of work for the Order. When the cat's away . . .

When he was at Grimmauld Place, Snape brewed in a spare room on the fourth floor, keeping Hermione alive and out of pain with a variety of potions that she drank down with no complaint, once mentioning that she'd handled a worse recovery at the end of fifth year when Dolohov's curse had her ingesting upwards of ten potions a day for weeks until she was finally healed. Sirius and Snape both requested she never mention that time again, and she couldn't understand why.

Sirius had scarcely made it out of the Department of Mysteries alive, but he'd been in worse situations and battles, and what Snape's issue was regarding the Department of Mysteries was well . . . a mystery. She eavesdropped later on when Mrs Weasley stopped in to bring food for everyone and the redhead asked after Hermione's health.

"She'll be all right, won't she?" the witch asked. "It's not as bad as last time?"

"Please don't mention that," Sirius pleaded. "Poppy told us all Hermione could have died then."

"She could have died a few days ago as well," Mrs Weasley said softly. "They shouldn't have run off. The Order should have stepped in right from the beginning. Damn Albus," the woman cursed their fallen Headmaster. "If only he had stuck around to tell us what he needed done."

"My apologies for disturbing your predetermined end-of-war schedule," Snape hissed at her. "Perhaps I could have delayed killing him," the bitter words rolled over the matron, "but regardless of timing, I can guarantee you that Albus Dumbledore would not have shared with you anything he did not want to. He told  _children_ his plans to end the war and, from what I've gathered, he didn't tell them much. It was how the man worked. Little pieces of information at a time to keep you coming back for more. He hand-fed  _all_ of his pets."

"We weren't his pets," Sirius argued quietly, his tone implied that he was trying to remain in control of his anger.

"Of course, we were!" Snape snarled. "You the dog, I the snake," he said and rolled his eyes. "And if you haven't figured it out yet, he had three favourite little lambs, all ready for slaughter."

Harry slept beside her each night to make sure she was safe. Hermione figured a lot of it was more for him than for her. They'd taken to sharing a bed when Ron abandoned them on the hunt. For weeks they had tried to stay on a schedule. One would rest while the other took watch, but after so long they were beyond exhausted and one morning she woke to find Harry's arm draped over her protectively, snoring next to her. She remembered smiling, for the first time in weeks, and feeling safe. Feeling loved and a part of something whole.  _Family_. She had lost her parents to Obliviation, and so she clung to Harry desperately to fill that familial void in her life.

A void that was starting to become familiar again.

When she wasn't resting from her injuries or begging for information from the Order or, at the very least, something to do, she had taken to staring at the Black Family tapestry on the wall. Her fingers gently raked over the embroidered name of Regulus Arcturus Black, willing information to be parted from the wall into her mind. Who was he? What was he like? Why did he have to die? Who was her mother? Why did they give her away, and to Muggles of all people? The Blacks, Regulus included, had been blood purists. Sirius and Andromeda had been the only exceptions. Right?

Her recovery took a rough step in the wrong direction one night when Harry had been summoned back to Shell Cottage to make plans with the Order. She woke in the middle of the night feeling like she was being suffocated only to find Sirius holding onto her tightly as her body thrashed in his arms. When she finally stopped seizing, Hermione tried to hold back her emotions, but they flooded her senses and she sobbed like a child against his chest while he stroked her long black curls, kissing her forehead and muttering apologies as though he had been the one to curse her.

Sirius whispered promises of protection. Told her that he would never let her go and that she was a part of him and a part of his family and he would do his best to take care of her from that point forward, no matter what it cost him.

Hermione's tears dried up as she breathed in Sirius's comforting scent, the feeling of safety enveloping her in a way she hadn't felt in years, not since she was a little girl and her dad—Richard Granger—hugged her tightly after picking her up at Kings Cross Station after her fourth year at Hogwarts when Cedric had died and Voldemort returned. She had been terrified deep down, covering up her fears with Gryffindor bravery and bravado, but the moment her dad wrapped his arms around her, she was small and fragile and felt like she could really, truly let go and allow herself to be afraid and have those fears chased away like monsters in the closet or the bogeyman beneath the bed.

Sirius made her feel like that again. Small and yet safe.

She reached a small hand up and touched his shoulder length black hair. Soft in texture like her own and as black as midnight with a gentle curl to it. She wondered if Regulus's hair had been the same. Wondered if he smelled like leather and sandalwood like Sirius did and, if so, was it something that would have calmed her as a child. Would he have hugged her and held her and calmed her fears, eased her nightmares, and told her that he would chase away the monsters? Hermione wanted to think that he would have.

Regulus Black had been a Death Eater, that much was certain. But he had also defied the Dark Lord; tried to bring him down by stealing and attempting to destroy a Horcrux. But he had failed, and his act of defiance had cost him his life.

Had cost Hermione her father.

Sirius's hugs were both a kind comfort and a painful reminder to the witch.

When the seizures stopped and she could sleep alone through the night, Hermione tried to get downstairs as quickly as she could every morning before Kreacher appeared with a tray of a dozen different foods to serve her in bed. She had tried pleading with the elf to let her downstairs, but he insisted that his special Young Miss needed her strength, and then went blathering on about how he was denied the privilege of caring for the special Young Miss, and how her honourable father Regulus . . . "liked to eat porridge with blueberries, and he liked bacon and tomatoes and beans but he did not like eggs and does special Young Miss like eggs?"

"Eggs are fine, Kreacher, thank you, you really don't have to go to all the trouble of—"

"Master Regulus, special Young Miss's honourable father, liked pumpkin juice in the morning but tea in the afternoon and does special Young Miss like pumpkin juice in the morning but tea in the afternoon?" he asked her.

His blue eyes stared up at her the same way that third years gaped at their first unicorn in Care of Magical Creatures. It made her incredibly sad and uneasy at the same time as though she wanted to dismiss him away but was terrified of offending him, or worse, causing him to think he had done something wrong and end up hurting himself in response.

Hermione offered a small smile. "Doesn't everyone drink pumpkin juice in the morning?" she asked conversationally.

Kreacher scowled. "Master . . . filthy blood-traitor brat that he is," the previously chipper elf hissed, "drinks coffee." He spoke in a tone that was hateful and defiant and said the words as though coffee was the very worst thing in the world simply because Sirius drank it.

Hermione frowned. "Kreacher . . ." she said hesitantly and then swallowed hard, "I . . . I would like it very much if you stopped speaking ill of Sirius."

He stared at her in severe confusion.

"Please," she begged him, and frowned when he recoiled from the word as though she had struck him. Hermione sighed in frustration. Never before had she wanted a house-elf, least of all this specific one, but she couldn't help but think that someone in the wizarding world should have written an owner's manual on how to deal with them. "Kreacher," she cleared her throat. "I . . . I  _order_ you to treat Sirius with respect," she said. "No more calling him names. No more calling  _anyone_ names," she corrected.

Kreacher stared at her, his mouth open and his fingers twisting in the long white hair that stuck out of his ears. Hermione cringed at the sight and then added, "And please wash your hands before you go back to the kitchen," she said nervously.

"Of course special Young Miss, Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of Black," he said and bowed low to her.

Hermione pouted guiltily. "B-but . . ." she stammered, "don't let anyone treat you badly. And only do things if you really want to. And if Sirius harms you in any way . . . I . . . I give you permission to . . ." she tried to think of something not so terrible that it would further provoke the strange animosity between Master and house-elf. "I give you permission to give him tea instead of coffee!"

Kreacher gaped at her with amusement as though she had just given him permission to poison Sirius. A part of her immediately began to worry that perhaps her new found uncle was allergic to tea leaves.

By the time Kreacher had filled her plate three times over, Hermione ordered him to leave her alone, something that still made her guilty, but apparently got easier with time. She slowly made her way down the stairs and into the library, desperate for something to do other than to stare out her bedroom window and wonder how the war was going on as no one was willing to offer her any information lest they stress her out.

"You're supposed to be resting, Miss Granger," Snape drawled as she stood in the doorway of the library, not even raising his black eyes to greet her as he devoted his attention to a book on a table in front of him; quill in hand, he made notes in the margins.

Hermione scrunched up her face at the sight as she reminded herself that books with his notes in the margins should probably be looked at with caution considering the trouble one of them had landed Harry in the year before. " _Black_ ," she said quietly as she stepped into the room and sat down across from him.

Snape looked up at her, raising a brow. "Beg your pardon?"

"Miss  _Black_ ," she corrected, a bite to her tone. "Isn't that who I am? Or is the tapestry wrong? Am I just some bastard child that was dropped on the doorstep of a Muggle family; the castaway of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black? Did my father even give a—"

Snape closed the book loudly, slamming the cover shut and cutting her off of her angry rant. She looked up at him with grey eyes, nervously twirling a lock of black hair between two fingers. She was angry that she was being kept in the dark about the war, which only served to remind her that she had been apparently kept in the dark as to her own origins, but she certainly hadn't meant to snap at the Potions Master like that.

Before she had a chance to officially apologise, he cleared his throat and then spoke in a mildly threatening tone, "Be careful to choose your next words, Miss . . .  _Black_."

Hermione nodded her apology instead before asking, "So that is my name then?"

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are not some . . . bastard, Miss Black," he assured her. "Your  _biological_ parents were indeed wed. I should know, I was present for the occasion," he added, rolling his eyes.

"You were at their wedding?" she asked, her interest peaked.

Snape nodded and then sneered. "Forcibly."

She hesitated before finally summoning the courage to ask him, "Who was my mother? The tapestry doesn't say."

"I imagine your father charmed it as such," Snape answered, opening his book once again and dunking the tip of his quill in a nearby ink pot, "the same way he charmed it to keep  _your_ name off of it until Potter decided to let you bleed all over magically enchanted floors. As for the identity of your mother, that is not for me to say," he drawled.

Hermione frowned bitterly. The man clearly knew the answer to her question but was purposely keeping the information to himself. Did that mean her mother was a terrible person? Someone she would be horrified to discover had given birth to her? She briefly panicked at the thought that her mother might have been Bellatrix Lestrange. The House of Black was known for inbreeding and it wasn't a secret that they'd married between cousins and . . .  _Oh Merlin!_  Hermione paled. She descended from people who married their first cousins!

"She was not a Black," Snape said irritably.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "How did you—?"

"Gryffindors are unbearably transparent with their thoughts. It almost makes the years I spent learning Legilimency a waste of time," he said.

"Why did he keep me a secret?" Hermione asked the Potions Master. "Why was I not on the tapestry until I 'bled all over magically enchanted floors', as you put it?"

"That is not for me to say."

"Then who  _can_ say it?!" she snapped. "I have questions, who can answer them for me?"

Snape looked up at her and raised a brow. "After six years of putting up with you knowing all of the answers to my questions," he said in a tone of annoyance, "I find this new side of your personality much more intolerable. However, at least you've ceased with the incessant hand raising."

"Can you tell me anything?" she begged him.

He snarled. "It is not—"

"For you to say," Hermione frowned, "yes, I know."

Several minutes passed in silence between them before Snape finished writing something at the end of a page and closed the book, setting his quill down to the side before capping the inkwell. "Your father would have the answers you seek," he told her.

"Yes, well, he's dead, isn't he?" Hermione said in a quiet anger.

Snape very briefly narrowed his eyes at her statement. "Obviously," he said, a note of sadness in his tone.

She looked up, catching his slight change in demeanour. "You knew him?" she asked and he nodded. "What . . . what was he like?"

"More tolerable than his brother . . ." Snape said instantly and then added, "and daughter."

Hermione smirked at him. "Does the Order need any help with research?" she asked, peering over at the cover of the book he had been writing in, noting that it was simply an old potions book. "Sirius and Harry won't let me assist with anything else because of the . . . the seizures," she frowned. "I can't brew anything because I'm likely to drop an ingredient and blow up the house, and I can't even fight because my wand was . . ." She sighed as she reached into her pocket to pull out the walnut wand from her robes that recently belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry had apparently allowed Tonks to use it during the infiltration of Gringotts, but Hermione woke up one morning and it had been returned to her as though it belonged with her.

Hermione hated it.

"Is that her wand?" Snape asked the witch. "Strange thing to hold onto. A keepsake from the time you were held prisoner."

" _I_ wasn't held prisoner," she corrected him. "Harry and Ron were. I was tortured."

"Prisoner just the same. A lack of bars does not indicate freedom, quite the opposite," he insisted as though he knew from personal experience what it was like to be kept. Perhaps not a prison, but a cage or a very tight leash.

Hermione frowned as she looked at the wand in her hand. "I kept it because I need a wand and this one was available. Now . . . is there anything I can research?"

"I left a stack of books in your room," Snape said, gesturing to the door.

"Not  _my_ room," she swallowed. "I don't live here. Besides, I've . . . relocated."

It had been Kreacher's idea of course, but one that Hermione didn't argue with. One evening after taking a bath, she wrapped herself in a soft towel and left the bathroom to return to the guest bedroom where she had been staying only to find all of her things missing. When she finally tracked them down, they were neatly folded and stacked on a chair beyond a wooden door that read,  _Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black._

She entered regardless and set herself up in her father's old bedroom, tearing down any and every mention of Voldemort he had plastered to the walls. She left up the photographs and the rest of the decor in the room. Green and silver draped the bed, walls, and the windows and she was half tempted to turn them all red and gold as a strange way of defying her father, something she had clearly not been able to do growing up. Her Muggle parents had always been so agreeable and anytime she was home from Hogwarts it was filled with vacations and catching up. She wondered what Regulus Black would have thought about his only child being sorted outside of Slytherin.

She left everything green and silver, though, much to Harry's distaste. When asked why she refused to change it, Hermione shrugged and, with no further explanation, said, "I'm comfortable here."

"I was told." Snape nodded. "Still, if you can't manage to carry the books to your new . . .  _location_ , I imagine the elf would be pleased to assist you."

Hermione grimaced. "I don't like him waiting on me."

"He seems to enjoy it quite a bit. You would deny the little beast an ounce of happiness?" he accused her, clearly amused when she gasped in reply. "Leave him in the caring hands of the mutt who he loathes to serve and once tried to help kill?"

Hermione shook her head, knowing that he was trying to provoke her into an argument, quite possibly for his own entertainment. "How can Kreacher be so devoted to . . . to Regulus but not to Sirius?" she asked, purposely not referring to the dead former Death Eater as her father, something she was struggling to do in her own mind as she fought the urge to separate herself entirely from the man, but yearned to connect with him as well. "Were they so different?" she asked. "He . . . my father," she looked down as she spoke the word quietly, "couldn't have been more than eighteen-years-old when he died. I know he was a Death Eater, but . . . but he was good in the end. Like you."

Snape scowled at her. "Do not presume to know a thing about me, Miss Black."

"He was only eighteen—"

"Draco Malfoy is an eighteen-year-old Death Eater, tell me, what do you think of  _him_?" he snapped at her.

Hermione recoiled from the words and looked away from the Potions Master, anxiously twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers before finally whispering, "I . . . I don't want to talk about Draco Malfoy."

He watched her mannerisms which seemed to annoy him further. "Interestingly enough, I do not care to talk about Regulus Black. If you want to know more about your father, go and read his diaries," he said, waving her off.

She looked up with sudden interest. "There are diaries? His personal ones?"

"Obviously or I would not have mentioned them." He stared at the girl incredulously as he made to stand, gathering his belongings into his arms.

"Why did you have my father's diaries?" she asked curiously.

"They were given to me."

"Why would he—" she began but was cut off when Snape hissed in pain and grabbed at his forearm.

"I have to go."

"The Dark Mark," she whispered, "He's . . . he's calling for you?"

Snape nodded. "Yes, and for once in my life I'm quite pleased to be entering  _his_ company as it relieves me of  _yours_." He snarled at her but Hermione could see the strange worry in his black eyes.

She stood to say goodbye. "Umm . . . be . . . be safe, sir," she said softly.

She contemplated going downstairs to find someone else to pester for a job to do or information on what was happening outside of Grimmauld Place, but when she heard laughter coming from the drawing room, she frowned. She could hear the sounds of Remus and Sirius, the latter, her uncle, going on and on about some prank or other that Harry's father pulled back in Hogwarts. Sounds of delight echoed up the hallways and stairwells and Hermione frowned wishing that Sirius was sitting with her instead, telling her memories of Regulus.

_Perhaps_ , she wondered,  _Sirius doesn't have any good ones_.

She returned to her room—Regulus's room—with his diaries in her arms and sat down on the green and silver bed, ignoring the large Black Family crest that had been painted over it. She reached for the leather bound book, opening the cover by using the tip of her finger with delicate ease, staring at the script on the inside noting the owner and year.

_September 1st, 1972_

_I sat with Sirius and his friends on the train even though Mother said I shouldn't. He's a bad influence, she continues to say and, after seeing the amount of Dungbombs my brother and his comrades have collected, I can't help but wonder if she was right. Whatever personality traits our parents found distasteful in Sirius before he left for Hogwarts, have been made worse by his friends._

_Potter encourages him through competition, one trying to outdo the other at every turn. Pettigrew applauds his every move to the point where I couldn't_ not  _roll my eyes at him. As much as I love my brother and have always looked up to him, even_ I  _couldn't contort myself into such a position to kiss his arse so well as Pettigrew does. Lupin seems to be the only logical mind of the bunch, and yet, still a Gryffindor which, according to Mother, might as well label one a blood-traitor from the start. He's a half-blood, though, so it wouldn't really matter. I know because I asked him and then received glares from each of Sirius's friends as though I had cursed them all._

_Sirius says that blood status doesn't matter at Hogwarts._

_I can't help but feel that, regardless of what my personal opinions on the purity of ancestry are, it does in fact, matter. Especially now that I've been sorted into Slytherin. I couldn't do it. The Sorting Hat appeared like it wanted to give me the choice but I . . . I'm not like Sirius. Not brave like Sirius. Or foolish like Sirius. He can take the beatings and the bruises, the broken bones and the whipping . . . but I don't have it in me to willingly martyr myself._

_Not for principles I don't fully understand._

_I met a girl on the train when I was sent to find the trolley. She fought me for the last liquorice wand and called me a prat when I bought it right out from under her nose. She traded me three chocolate frogs for the item and laughed when I tried to kiss her hand after she introduced herself._

_She was sorted into Gryffindor._

_Sirius is wrong._

_It all matters_.

When Hermione woke the following morning, Regulus's diary held open on her lap, she yawned and closed the book, eager to set it aside before Kreacher showed up and started shovelling food at her. The witch turned to place the diary on the table beside the bed and gasped at the sight of her vinewood wand sitting there, pinning down a note that read:

_Miss Black,_

_I believe this belongs to you._

_S.S._


	4. Amicitia

**September 1974**

"You have to take my second year," Regulus insisted as he sat down next to Severus in the Great Hall, watching as his best friend slowly raised his eyes from his copy of  _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , quill stuck between two ink-stained fingers as he made notes in the margins of the text.

Two years spent with Severus Snape as his Slytherin "mentor" and Regulus still couldn't quite understand how the older boy could read, write, and eat all at the same time. Then again, with a book in one hand and a quill in the other, setting down either at anytime for a brief forkful of food left little time to converse, which aided with Severus's favourite pastime: avoiding conversations.

Severus raised a slender black brow and stared at his friend. "If you get rid of your second year, Lucius will just assign you another," he told him, the irritation in his tone indicated he was silently calling Regulus an idiot. "It's the older year's jobs to look after the youngers; teach them the ways. One isn't any better than another, and they're  _all_ irritating, trust me," he drawled.

Regulus smirked. "Wonderful insult, Severus," he said and then quietly applauded. "I'm irritating, well done," he sarcastically quipped.

Their first year as "assigned" best friends had been tense until Regulus made Severus aware that he cared little for Severus's secret status as a half-blood, and didn't share the same views on the boy's friendship with a certain redhead that the rest of Slytherin House did. Regulus's great attention span in classes made him top of his year, which allowed him the chance to study with Severus without being labelled completely useless by the older boy.

They shared a passion for education and learning, books and Quidditch, though neither had made the House team. However, it was their distaste for other students that brought them together for the most part, and a strange reluctance to end their friendship regardless of whatever offensive subject came into the conversations. With Sirius being Regulus's brother, their conversations often got heated; still, they remained friends.

"What's wrong with your second year, and why are you  _now_ trying to get rid of him?" Severus asked, putting his book down in frustration, seeing that Regulus wasn't going to just give up so easily. "He's been your responsibility for a year, hasn't he?"

"He creeps me out and I'm finally at my breaking point," Regulus replied. "He's twitchy as hell when he's quiet and when he's not he never shuts up. I woke up this morning and he was standing by my bed, waiting for me to wake up. When I opened my eyes he opened his mouth and didn't stop talking until I hexed him silent and blamed it on a passing Hufflepuff."

When Lucius Malfoy had stood in front of the group of newly sorted Slytherins a year ago and introduced Regulus to Bartemius Crouch Jr., he thought he could try to emulate Severus with his new little shadow, but it became quickly obvious that the boy had no respect for the authority that came naturally with Regulus's one year difference in age. Then again, Regulus rarely offered the same level of respect to Severus, but at least he knew when to shut his mouth.

"A chatty second year, how abhorring." Severus rolled his eyes. "I should say your selling technique needs polishing. Why on earth would I take him  _now_?"

Regulus sighed in irritation. "Take him off my hands and I'll help you with your Transfiguration homework."

Severus bristled and sneered at his friend. "I hardly need help from a  _third year_ , thank you."

Regulus smirked at the defiance of the older boy. "You  _do_ and you know it. Don't act like you're better than me because you're older," he said hypocritically. "I happen to know that you're tutoring two sixth years in Potions. What are Mulciber and Avery giving you in exchange for that?"

Severus's black eyes darkened—Regulus hadn't thought that possible—and he turned and glared at his friend. "That's none of your concern," he glowered as he replied. After a moment to collect himself and return his face to an emotionless mask, Severus spoke again, "Take the hex-free sign off of your brother and I'll get rid of your second year twitching shadow."

Regulus frowned. "You know I won't."

Severus narrowed his eyes across the Great Hall where Sirius and Potter were being reprimanded by Professor McGonagall for dancing on the Gryffindor table. "You know what he's like and yet you do nothing but protect him."

The young Black ran a hand through his long hair, noting that it was almost as long as Sirius's, but not quite as shaggy. He briefly wondered if his brother owned a brush or comb, or simply let his hair dry that way to appear rugged and rough. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw girls appeared to like that. "Normal, non-fatal or permanently scarring retribution for anything he does  _is_ allowed," Regulus said, his words well-rehearsed and clearly spoken before. "You know if I didn't have Lucius's protection in place, Sirius would be dead."

It had been less than two weeks after Regulus ended his betrothal to Narcissa in exchange for Sirius's protection that he was sat down by a group of fifth years who had apparently been pranked by Sirius the month prior when the Gryffindors—"Marauders", they called themselves—had put Sticking Charms on the Slytherin's shoes, making them stuck to the floor of the Great Hall and late to class. Evidently, their idea of proper retribution for a harmless joke was to steal from Slughorn's storage, brew a Draught of Living Death and slip it in Sirius's pumpkin juice.

Lucius had forbade the action as per his arrangement with Regulus, and the other Slytherins had spent an hour trying to talk the young Black into removing the ban on his brother. He had then spent the rest of his first and  _all_ of his second year at Hogwarts running interference with his Housemates that were all too eager to try and permanently take out Sirius. It was shocking, to see and hear what wizards close to his own age were willing to do but, then again, the  _Daily Prophet_  had been reporting on things out in the real world that looked just as bad if not worse. Muggings, theft, torture, and murders. He tried to avoid reading the paper. His mother would send him clippings that she found important anyway, and he had no desire to know the rest.

Severus glared across the hall as Sirius tried to flirt his way out of detention with McGonagall, the old witch looked sternly at him, her arms crossed over her chest, but even from the Slytherin table they could see her resolve slightly crack. It was far too difficult not to fall prey to the charms of Sirius Black. "Maybe someone should just—"

"Watch it," the third year hissed at his friend, his normally relaxed tone of voice tensing. "You might be my best mate Severus, but Sirius is my brother."

"He's a  _Gryffindor_."

"So is Evans," Regulus pointed out, gesturing to the redheaded witch who was arguing with Potter while Sirius sweet talked the Deputy Headmistress. "And you put a similar protection in place for her. Don't think I don't know about it, though, I'm not entirely certain what you had to give up in exchange."

Severus was seething. "That's different," he insisted. "For one, she's not a  _menace_ to the rest of the school, and secondly, you know very well that my protection for her has absolutely  _nothing_ to do with her being a Gryffindor."

Regulus nodded in understanding. It was true. Though they whispered it in class and in the corridors, the word "Mudblood" was thrown around casually in the common room and Lily Evans—the smartest witch in her year—had apparently rankled the scales of a few serpents that wanted to bleed the girl dry if only to show how filthy her blood really was. Regulus avoided conversations like that, merely rolling his eyes at the statements. When asked if he'd like to join in should they finally get the girl alone, Regulus evaded the offer by talking about how difficult it was to get blood stains out of clothing. That, surprisingly, was a passable answer. It was unfortunate how close his militant blood purist parents were with the parents of other students in his House.

"The others are talking," Regulus spoke quietly, warning his friend. It was one thing to talk about and threaten a Mudblood from another House, Gryffindor at that, but it appeared the older students were beginning to take notice of Severus's affection for the girl, and that would not be tolerated.

Severus sneered. "Let them talk."

Regulus sighed at the sight of Severus's stubborn face. "When Lucius graduates next year, we're both screwed. They'll turn on Sirius and your little ginger witch the moment he steps onto the train, and they'll turn on  _us_ for even  _thinking_ about trying to keep them safe. We'll be forced to make a choice."

"And what will you choose?" Severus asked, still looking across the Hall, but instead of glaring eyes on Sirius and Potter, his black eyes were settled on the redhead in question. She, in turn, was gathering up her books into her arms, glaring daggers at the messy-haired wizard who was grinning up at her from his seat at the table between Sirius and Lupin.

"In the long run," Regulus thought out loud, "I think it might be best to cut ties."

"With House or blood?" Severus asked, turning his focus to his friend.

"In appearance? Blood," he replied. "If they think I'm loyal to one member of my family who's already on his way out of his inheritance, then it'll be so much worse for the pair of us. At least on this side I can try and control what happens to him."

"I hate him, you know."

"And for good reason, I get it." Regulus nodded. "But I don't turn my back on people I care about."

Severus chuckled,  _actually_ chuckled. "How Hufflepuff of you."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Says the bloke fingering a Muggle watch in his pocket that his girlfriend got him last Yule," he teased quietly.

Severus's eyes widened and then narrowed in the space of half a second. "She's not my girlfriend," he hissed.

"She got you a watch," Regulus said as if that made his entire point for him. "Granted, it's a hideous looking Muggle-made thing, it's still a watch. Did you even explain the implications of such a gift to the little Muggle-born, or did you just accept it like an idiot?" he asked, smirking when he could see the slightest touch of pink tinge Severus's cheeks.

"It doesn't mean anything," the fourth year Slytherin insisted.

"Not to  _her_."

"And what did you get from your own little lioness?" Severus asked.

Regulus bristled but kept the smug expression on his face intact. He and Severus had known one another long enough—and well enough—to know which buttons they could push. Lily Evans had always been Severus's biggest button and lone vulnerability. Regulus, of course, had Sirius. Sirius and . . .

"Chocolates," he said with a shrug. "Because  _she's_ a pureblood and knows better," he added with a smug grin. "Have a chat with Evans before she starts handing out tie tacks and cufflinks to the wizards in her own House," he advised with genuine concern. Merlin knew what a nightmare it would be if Severus's Muggle-born sweetheart—whether she knew it or not—accidentally found herself betrothed to someone. "My brother would tease her mercilessly for it, but he would at least refuse them and, whether you like him or not, Lupin's honourable enough to educate her should she do something as naive and ignorant as give him said gift."

Severus's shoulders stiffened. "Something's wrong with him."

"You've said before," Regulus replied with casual irritation in regards to the subject. It didn't take a complete idiot to figure out what was wrong with Lupin, but Severus had always wanted proof. Proof of lycanthropy was a fool's errand. A  _dead_ fool if he was successful in any sense.

"As I was saying . . ." Regulus continued, "if she hands Potter, Pettigrew, or even Longbottom something, I wouldn't doubt that their parents would draw up a contract on the spot. Trust me when I tell you that it's a bloody sacrifice to get out of one of those."

"What did you give up to get out of your betrothal contract to Narcissa?" Severus asked curiously.

Regulus scowled. "None of your business."

He was about to be attacked with a barrage of follow-up questions, no doubt, when—of all unlikely creatures—a Muggle-born came to his rescue. The long-legged redhead bounded to their table with the reckless bravery of a blind lion. Each serpent turned to glare at her save for Severus and Regulus at the end who greeted her with curt nods, keeping any thought of a smile to a minimum.

"Hey, Sev!" Lily greeted him brightly, her very aura could glow even in the brightest of lights. It was blinding. "Are you ready to go to the library?"

Severus nodded as he gathered his books together. "Almost finished."

"Black," Lily greeted Regulus with a smile.

"Evans."

"You coming to study with us?" she asked, as she always did, a polite propensity she had begun years earlier when Severus had first begrudgingly introduced the pair. Regulus never agreed to accompany them.

"Meeting a friend," he said, declining her offer.

She grinned knowingly at him. "Is it someone I know?" she asked.

His grey eyes narrowed at the implication in her tone. "Is it any of your concern?"

She dropped her tone an octave and her bright green gaze turned slightly hard. "If it's my friend, then yes, yes it is," she insisted.

Mother lion to a pride of unruly little cubs. Regulus couldn't help but wonder how many would be sadly lost to injury and detention while their protective lioness naively played with snakes. He sneered at her. "Well, she was my friend  _first_ , so . . . so there."

Lily laughed, her eyes sparkling as she did so. "How is it that you're a snarky little smartarse and yet you're  _still_ more tolerable than your brother?" she asked him with a sweet grin that made him feel uncomfortable.

"I'm not a Gryffindor?" he suggested.

She smirked, rolling her eyes. "Very funny."

"I'm that too."

She shook her head at him "How are you only thirteen?"

"Well-bred wizards are taught to speak properly from a young age," he informed her only to get a glare in reply. He sighed dramatically as he realised what he had said and shook his head. "Not  _that . . ._ I didn't mean 'well-bred' as in . . . blood. If I truly thought that way, would I even be speaking to you?"

"What  _are_ your thoughts on blood purity?" she asked him, her voice much too loud.

Regulus felt Severus stiffen beside him. He wondered if they should learn Legilimency for moments like this. So that perhaps he could look into Severus's eyes and somehow silently tell his friend that he needed to get his pet Gryffindor under control before she got them all killed.

"My thoughts are that it's perfectly fine for me to exchange pleasantries with you in public," he answered, his tone short and slightly cold. "But don't expect to get into a political debate with me in the middle of the Great Hall at my own table," he muttered through clenched teeth, hoping that the point was easily received. "Better yet, do yourself and Severus a favour and don't ever bring it up at all."

Lily frowned at him and Regulus couldn't help but feel like she was disappointed in his answer, as though she expected better of him. Better from a Slytherin she barely knew. Gods, if his parents even knew he was speaking to her and not calling her any number of slurs, he would be beaten like Sirius often was.

She sighed. "Your brother may be a lot of things, but he doesn't care that I'm a Muggle-born. I think he would actually be friends with me if I let him."

Regulus scoffed. "Yes. I'll remember that when the two of you exchange friendship bracelets and my mother uses it to choke him to death," he said sarcastically, but his eyes spoke the truth. He let her see it there in his gaze, hoping that maybe she would understand. " _That's_  what I think about blood purity, Evans. Sev, always a pleasure," he said as he stood, grabbing his book bag. "If you see Crouch, let him know I jumped into the lake and drowned and he's more than welcome to join me."

He stormed out of the Great Hall, grateful knowing that he had another hour before his next class began. The thought of silence was pleasurable after that massive fuck up of a conversation. In front of the entire Slytherin table no less.  _What was wrong with the bloody girl?!_

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" a voice called from behind him and Regulus jumped, caught unawares.

He sighed as he spotted the blond witch behind him. He smiled at her, something few people were able to extract from the young Slytherin. The very sight of her was cause to grin, though. Her hair was a giant mess of blond insanity. He was positively certain that not a single curl went in the same direction. It was longer than when he had first seen it on the Hogwarts Express that first train ride to school when they had fought over sweets and became instantaneous friends. He had watched her large mass of corkscrew locks as she had sat on the Sorting stool, wondering how on earth the Hat would even fit on her head. When it had shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" he felt a lump in his chest that sat there, bitter for a week before he had run into her during a double Potions class and sat down beside him, much to the shock of  _both_ Houses.

At the reminder of the thing that separated him from the witch, he scowled. "Your Housemate is what's wrong with me."

"Lily?" she asked curiously, noting that the upperclassman had been by the Slytherin table. "What did she say?"

"Nothing," he hissed as he walked, slowing his steps instinctively so she fell in beside him. "Just walked over to the table and started asking me, in front of my Housemates, what my thoughts on  _blood purity_  are!"

The girl sighed dramatically. "I don't get Slytherins. Why can't you just . . . be friends instead of future political allies or adversaries?"

He scoffed. "Because that's not how it works."

"Do you even  _enjoy_ life?" she asked, reaching up and tugging on a lock of his hair. He turned and did the same to her, twisting the blond curl around his finger before yanking lightly on it. "Do you like being at Hogwarts? Do Slytherins have fun . . . at all?"

She smiled at him and he willed himself to ignore the dimple that was etched into her right cheek but not her left. He hated things that weren't symmetrical; they drew his attention and caught him off guard. That single tiny dimple had been plaguing him since first year.

"I have fun with  _you_ ," he admitted.

"And if your Housemates thought I was more than just some study buddy?" she asked him.

He swallowed down the words that threatened to vomit up. " _Are_  you?" he asked curiously.

She snorted. "Don't be a prat."

He decided to push his luck and ask, "Would you ever consider giving me a watch as a gift for Yule?"

Her bright blue eyes widened and she turned and gaped at him, cheeks pink and lips parted. Regulus couldn't help but wonder if this was what Sirius went through every day. Girls were constantly staring at him, gaping in shock at something either flattering or offensive he had said. Regardless of the words they still ended up snogging him, something that made Regulus a little sad for witches in general and a bit disappointed—while at the same time impressed—with his brother.

"W-what?" the blond witch stuttered. "A . . . a watch? Why? Do you . . . d-do you  _want_ a watch? From me?" she asked, clearly knowing the meaning of such a gift. It was a relief, really.

"Hypothetical question," Regulus replied.

"Hypothetical answer . . . I'd . . . I don't know."

Regulus nodded as though her response meant nothing to him when inside he felt sick with anxiety and fear of rejection. "You should talk to Evans about how she behaves. She gave Severus a watch last Yule."

She laughed loudly. "Mother of Merlin! Did he  _accept_ it!?"

He smirked at her. "Yes. But he's smart enough to understand that she didn't mean anything by it other than a gift for a friend."

"Is he wearing it?" she asked, her voice sounding far too much like the tone she used to gossip with and he wasn't one of her little Gryffindor girlfriends.

"No," he insisted. "Keeps it in his pockets."

"Thank Godric!" She giggled. "That would be a disaster."

He nodded, but then out of curiosity asked, "Why do you say that?"

"Because she thinks of him like a brother."

"That feeling, I assure you, is  _not_ reciprocated," he replied, shaking his head in grief for his poor love-stricken friend. Perhaps he ought to ask Narcissa to find a girl for Severus. Someone to take his mind off of Evans. Sirius went through witches like Cauldron Cakes, surely one wasn't any better than the other?

"What about me?" the witch at his side asked.

"What?" Regulus blinked at her, pulled from his thoughts, his grey eyes drawn to the lopsided smile she was giving him. The curve of her lip lifted on the side with the dimple. It was damn distracting. He swallowed and then smirked at her. "I don't know if Evans thinks of you like a brother. We're not that close," he said and laughed when she punched him in the arm. "Ow! Aren't you supposed to be a proper pureblood witch?" he teased. "Didn't your parents ever tell you it was improper to hit a wizard?"

She blushed. "Don't be a git, you know what I'm saying."

"I don't know. You're just . . ." he hesitated, "you're my friend."

She frowned. "Oh."

"And . . ." He cleared his throat. "I would like you to  _not_ be anyone else's friend."

She smirked looking up at him and suddenly he noticed that they had a difference in height. Had she always been that short? That small and fragile looking? But then again, the growing bruise on his arm said otherwise.

"That's a little selfish of you, don't you think?" she asked.

He shrugged, not offended by her words in the slightest. "I'm selfish with the things . . . and people . . . I care about."

"Aww," she cooed at him, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked, laughing when he caught a mouthful of her hair. "Regulus Black, do you  _care_ about me?"

"Shut up," he hissed.

"Aren't you supposed to be a proper pureblood wizard?" she asked, mocking him as she gasped and jumped back away from him, grasping at her heart dramatically.  _Gods, Gryffindors were theatrical!_  "Didn't your parents ever tell you it was improper to tell a witch to shut up?"

Regulus smirked. "Couldn't tell you if they did. Mum screams so loud I went deaf when I was eight."

The witch laughed and linked her arm with his as they continued to walk. "Come my proper pureblood wizard," she said teasingly, "let us adjourn to the lake where you will study things of higher education and I will be a proper pureblood princess and simper at you while you regale me with tales of your vast intellect."

"Hey, goldilocks!" Sirius shouted as he rushed over to them, draping an arm over the witch's shoulders. "What are you doing hanging out with this little git?" He smirked at his little brother.

"Having a lovely conversation about which of the Black brothers is more attractive," she replied with a wink.

"Oh." Sirius stood back, adjusting his robes and running a hand through his black hair. "Well, clearly there's a  _huge_ difference," he said and waggled his eyebrows at her teasingly.

"Yes, huge as in your head." She laughed at him. "It's so big I think it disqualifies you and Regulus wins by default."

"Ouch." Sirius clutched at his heart. "You wound me, my lady."

The witch giggled and rolled her eyes at him, letting go of Regulus's arm as she made her way down to the lake, leaving the Black brothers behind. Sirius grinned and leant next to Regulus, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Bugger off," Regulus snarled.

Sirius grinned, ignoring his brother. "She's nice. I like her."

"Go away!" Regulus snapped.

Sirius only widened his smile at Regulus's temper. "Have you kissed her? Snogged in a broom closet? The one on the fourth floor is particularly large, then again, it's nice when they're small. Very little wiggle room."

"You're disgusting." Regulus shook his head. "How do you even  _get_ girls to kiss your stupid face?"

"I look like this," Sirius said with a smile and pointed to his face, which was partially obscured by the red and gold tie that he had wrapped around his head.

Regulus frowned. " _I_  look like that too, only less moronic."

"Yeah, but I'm not scowling all the time, am I?" Sirius smirked. "They  _love_ it when you smile, Reggie. C'mon, give us a grin," he said and pushed his fingers against Regulus's cheeks, trying to manipulate a smile out of the boy.

"Can you . . ." Regulus seethed as his brother continued to touch his face, "be an adult for  _once_ in your life?"

"No," Sirius answered instantly. "I'm fourteen. Happy to  _not_ be an adult as long as I can get away with it."

"Can you please be—?"

"Serious?"

"Fuck off!" Regulus growled and pulled away from his brother. "Please just . . . go back to your merry little band of idiots," he said and gestured to the Marauders who were on the other side of the greenhouses, roughhousing with one another.

"They're not idiots," Sirius said, defending his friends.

Regulus stared at his brother incredulously. "Potter's laying on the ground at this very moment, holding his groin because he leapfrogged over Pettigrew and knocked his bollocks on the idiot's big fat head," he pointed out.

Sirius turned his head quickly to watch and, sure enough, James was groaning on the ground with his hands between his legs. Peter was gripping the top of his head, and Remus was laughing loudly, holding his hands against his side. "He jumps too soon." Sirius sigh disappointedly and shook his head. "You have to use the shoulders to give you the extra boost."

Regulus gaped at his brother. "How are you lot passing your classes? How are  _any_ of you not brain damaged?"

"Remus keeps us in line when it's necessary."

"Can he try to keep you from hexing my Housemates?" Regulus snapped.

Sirius frowned. " _I_  don't start it."

"Can you . . . Sirius, please . . ." Regulus begged. " _Please_  stop. Just pretend Slytherins don't exist if it'll get you through the day. Can you not make things harder?"

Sirius ignored the pleading and looked back toward the lake where the little blond witch was sitting beneath a tree, looking back at the brothers expectantly. "Your bird looks lonely. Go kiss and make-up with her," Sirius said, shoving Regulus toward her.

"She's not my . . ." He growled, watching as Sirius ran back to his friends. "Fucking idiot," he mumbled under his breath as he reached the tree and his sole Gryffindor friend.

"If it makes you feel any better, I  _do_ think you're better looking than your brother." She smiled up at him as he took a seat beside her, trying not to let colour reach his cheeks and give him away.

"It . . . I don't care about that," he insisted.

"Reg?" When his grey eyes met blue, she smiled softly. "I would."

"Would what?"

"Consider giving you a watch as a gift for Yule."

He smiled at her. A  _genuine_ smile.

When she opened her book bag to reach for her homework, Regulus looked down at his own books and frowned at the sight of the Black family crest his mother had the elves stitch on his book bag. Yule watch or not, affections or not, there was no way his parents—blood purists that they were—would ever approve of a match with Marlene McKinnon.


	5. Nomen

**April 1998**

Her grey eyes fell over the words on the soft page that smelled of dust and leather and something musky and just a touch sour but came together as a good kind of stink that made Hermione feel at home. The old parchment, more than likely tucked away in Professor Snape's office, private quarters, or even his home, likely sat nearby while the Potions Master brewed; steam from the various draughts infiltrating the air and eventually the pages of her father's diaries, making them smell old and alive at the same time.

She remembered how Harry talked about Tom Riddle's diary in second year. How, when he put a quill to the page and wrote down a question, the piece of Voldemort's soul inside of the diary—the Horcrux—would write back. As dark of magic as Tom Riddle's diary had been, Hermione was often tempted to touch her  _father's_ diaries with ink in the vain hope that he would speak to her through its pages, beyond the grave. Then again, there hadn't been a grave. Or a body. Voldemort's inferi never released him.

She exhausted herself with research trying to help the Order. Sirius and Harry always on her heels forcing her back to bed to rest when it was clear from her red-rimmed eyes that she had reached a limit. She didn't want to tell them that when she slept she had nightmares. The few times she woke in a puddle of sweat and tears, only to find either one or both of them leaning over her, gently rousing her from her anguished sleep, she lied and said it was all Bellatrix in her thoughts.  _That,_ they would understand. They wouldn't ask questions, as it was expected she would fear the woman who had tortured her—had cut into her flesh.

She didn't tell them that she dreamed of a cave she had never seen; of an island in the middle of a lake and a locket that had been long since destroyed. She didn't tell them that she dreamed of an unquenchable thirst and of the undead rising from the waters to pull her down with them. With  _him_.

She didn't tell them she dreamed of drowning. Of dying like her father died.

Hermione breathed in the scent of the diary pages, forcing the tears not to fall in mourning for a man she had never met. She let the smell of the parchment wash over her, calm her and cleanse her and ease her worries. She let his words ease her curiosities.

_March 17th, 1976_

_I found Severus first. I should have known that he was planning something. For all of the lectures he gives the younger years about staying one's hand until the right moment, observation, preparation, and using resources like a good Slytherin should . . . he sure acted like a reckless fucking Gryffindor. He's been complaining about Lupin for years; too prideful to let it slide that someone had a secret he couldn't know all the details about, I suppose. I used to think he had issues with half-breeds and magical creatures, perhaps he was worried for his fellow students. Then last Monday, I watched my best friend stare across the Great Hall while Evans shared her dessert with Lupin—who looked disgustingly sick and pale—and I could see the jealous rage building up inside of my friend._

_Idiot._

_To let a girl—a girl who didn't even reciprocate his feelings—have such power over him. Weakness. It clouded his thoughts and made him reckless. When I found him pale and shaking in the common room last night, I could only have guessed what had happened. Full moon plus a raging Slytherin with a Muggle-born fetish and a werewolf who didn't even think twice about sharing a piece of chocolate cake with the girl. Oh, the outrage. He caught me rolling my eyes at him and called me a "pureblood prick" as though it were an insult. He can be such a baby when he's heartbroken._

_I met with Marlene for breakfast, ignoring the whispers coming from my own Housemates. They all think that I'm fucking her, which is despicable despite what the supposed customs are for young pureblood wizards. I watched from the shadows while Lucius courted Narcissa, eager to make sure she was safe and happy despite the fact I no longer had any claim on her. And not once—not once!—did Malfoy step out of line with another witch. Pureblood customs indeed. Maybe for purebloods of_ lower  _birth. Respectable families like the Blacks and the Malfoys have no need to sully their names and their bodies by bedding as many witches as possible before marriage. Well . . . except for Sirius._

_I let my Housemates believe what they want. If they think Marlene is just some stupid slag I'm putting it to, then she's claimed at the very least, and they'll leave her alone. If not . . . gods, I don't even want to think what would happen. It's bad enough that they all think I take it too easy on my own brother, which I do, but to have them believe I was in love with a blood-traitor Gryffindor? We would both be dead._

_And I do love her._

_Gods . . . I sound like Severus._

_At least Marlene likes me back._

_I wonder how long that will last._

"Does it say a bunch of shite about  _me_ in there?"

Hermione gasped at the intrusion and slammed the diary shut, bringing her grey eyes up to her bedroom door to see Sirius standing there with a smirk on his face. She wondered if her father had the same smile. Staring at the man, her uncle, she was suddenly overwhelmingly pleased that she never developed a crush on him as Ginny had one summer. Granted, she had been busy spending her nights thinking of a certain werewolf that would remain unnamed and buried deep down in the recesses of her subconsciousness forever.

"He loved you very much," Hermione said, gesturing to the diary in her hands as Sirius stepped into the room and took a seat on the side of her bed. "Even if you were—"

"An egotistical arrogant arse?" Sirius grinned at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling softly. "Something like that."

He looked at the diary, touching the cover briefly before pulling his hand away and turning his attention to the witch. "How are you doing, little girl?" he asked, smiling at her and affectionately tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear.

She smiled at his attentions, the feeling of being loved and treasured by a father figure again felt healing. His words, however . . . She wasn't ready. Not really. "How are plans for the battle?" she asked curiously.

Sirius chuckled. "Sudden change of subject, that doesn't bode well," he said, smiling when her nose twitched at being caught. "Plans are going well," he told her. "As far as we can tell, Voldemort is still looking for the Elder Wand and doesn't know that four out of seven Horcruxes are destroyed and we know the identity of the other three."

Hermione flinched at the numbers. "Professor Snape is certain about the last one?" she asked, forcing her bottom lip not to tremble. She was a Gryffindor for Godric's sake!

Sirius frowned and nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not happy about it either, but it makes sense." He sighed, the weight of Azkaban and years in war ageing him in the moment of reflection, in the moment where they both silently acknowledged what they both knew: Harry was a Horcrux. "I've never trusted the git but . . . Pensieve memories are hard to alter without being noticeable. Plus, he willingly took Veritaserum that he didn't brew himself. Threw a fit about it first, but he took it."

Hermione nodded, processing his words while her brain worked overtime. "And you're sure Harry will survive it?" she asked worriedly.

"Me? I don't know . . ." he shook his head, "but . . . Snape and Moony and even  _you_ have researched the hell out of everything you could get your hands on. I can't lie and say I'm not worried. I'm bloody terrified."

"Do you trust Professor Snape now?" she asked him.

He cringed at the words but miraculously held his tongue. She wondered if it had anything to do with her, this strange truce that had sprung up between the lifelong rivals. "I . . . I don't know, Hermione," he admitted honestly.

"I think you should," she said. "I think . . . I think he had a rough life too."

Sirius raised a brow. "Too?"

Hermione touched her father's diary. "He, er, Regulus," she said, frowning, "was very detailed about his childhood.  _Your_ childhood."

Sirius looked briefly vulnerable and instinctively picked at a small scar near his collarbone. He didn't seem to notice that he was doing it, but Hermione's eyes flickered to the site, wondering if that was one of the many bones that Walburga Black had broken. "Shite," Sirius muttered bitterly. "I . . . don't tell Harry or . . . anyone, okay?" he pleaded with her.

"I don't think badly of you because of it," she said. "You were being true to yourself. Protecting Andromeda and your friends and . . . and your brother."

Sirius nodded silently, still looking uncomfortable. Obviously not used to ever feeling or appearing weak, least of all in front of a witch; a witch he had spent the past few weeks saying he would protect and love as though she were his own daughter.

"Maybe . . . maybe it was good that I was raised by Muggles," she said softly. "I don't know the exact statistics, but children who are raised in abusive homes could grow up to become—"

"Don't," Sirius said cutting her off, his tone cold and firm. "Regulus wasn't cruel," he insisted. "He was an arrogant little shite when he wanted to be. Smart and unafraid to rub it in your face. He was Slytherin, so he was cunning and selfish at times. And gods did we fight, especially in those last few years. But you . . ." Sirius paused and took a breath to calm himself. "Hermione, I've jumped to a lot of conclusions about my brother in the past and have had to have the truth shoved back in my ignorant face. He would never have hurt you."

"He was a Death Eater."

"Yeah." Sirius nodded, pain lingering in his eyes. "Yeah, he was."

"You're sure about that?"

He looked down. "I saw the Dark Mark myself," he confessed but didn't elaborate. "He really was one of them."

She frowned and then tried to reason, "So was Professor Snape and now he's good. Regulus was good in the end too, wasn't he?"

Sirius nodded but then muttered, "Lot of good it did him."

She bitterly agreed with him. "Now . . . now I don't have a father. He never even knew me." Her chest felt tight as she spoke the words but she tried to remain in control of her breathing. The last thing she needed was for Sirius to think she was any more fragile than he already believed her to be. "He died months before I was even born."

The large Animagus wrapped his arms around the small witch and held her close, rubbing her back and kissing her head. "You have me," he promised, pulling away to look in her eyes—grey, like his own. "Officially I'm your Patriarch, the Paterfamilias of your House and, without Reg here, that means you . . . you belong to me in his absence." Before she had a chance to object to the terminology, he clarified, "It means I'll take care of you. You and Harry. Once this shitty war is over and Voldemort is dead, we'll be a family. A proper family." He smiled sweetly at her and she couldn't help but return the expression.

A proper family sounded wonderful right now.

A thought occurred to her. "I'm going with Harry when he goes to Hogwarts to look for the diadem."

Sirius growled under his breath but then sighed loudly. "I was afraid you were going to say that. All too eager to sacrifice yourself for the welfare of others."

"Maybe I'm like my father," she suggested, her tone a touch bitter.

Sirius smirked at her. "Maybe. Your mum was a Gryffindor too, though," he said.

Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes. "Did you know her?" she asked, desperate for information. There was nothing on the family tapestry and Professor Snape wouldn't let a word of her pass his lips, so all Hermione had to go on were small hints in the diaries, but even then there were so many and she hadn't read them all yet.

"Marlene?" Sirius grinned and confirmed what the diaries had led her to believe. "Yeah, we were friends. She was brilliant. Smart and funny and she didn't put up with anything. Friendly too. You . . . I can see how you're her daughter."

"Are you sure  _she's_ my mother?" Hermione asked, finding it strange at how easy it was to say the word "mother" in reference to a woman she barely had confirmation of, and yet acknowledging Regulus Black as her father, aloud, was still a struggle. "It . . . I'm only up to his fourth year at Hogwarts," she said, looking down at the leather bound book in her hands.

"My brother only ever had eyes for one witch and it was her." Sirius smiled, a look of happy nostalgia lingered in his eyes and Hermione smiled at the sight of it. "From the first moment they met on the train. It was rare for a Slytherin to be friends with a Gryffindor. If . . . I mean, obviously,  _you_ exist so somehow they made it work, at least for a time. Despite being from two rival Houses."

Hermione nodded and then whispered, "In fair Verona."

"What's that?"

"A Muggle play," she told him. "Romeo and Juliet. You know it?"

Sirius scoffed, offended before dramatically speaking, "' _From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes a pair of star-cross'd lovers—'"_

"' _Take their life'_ ," Hermione finished the verse with a frown. Sirius swallowed and nodded as silence fell between them. Hermione wondered if the grief would ever abate—grief for her Muggle parents, who were lost to her forever; grief for her dead parents, who she would never know. There was also a lingering pain that had stuck around for far too long—gods, if she could only will it away. "Star-crossed lovers never have happy endings, do they?" she asked him.

Sirius frowned. "I can't bring your father back, and I can't bring back your Muggle parents, but I'm going to give you a good life Hermione," he promised her. "I know you're not really a little girl anymore but—"

"I would like to be," she admitted. "War took my childhood from me. I think I would very much like it back."

He smiled brightly. "Would you like a pony, little girl? I'll happily get you a pony."

She laughed softly, the first genuine laugh she had had in weeks. "I'll take your hippogriff if you can tell him to stay on the ground at all times."

Sirius gasped. "You would take away my Buckbeak? Cruel, cruel witch," he scolded her teasingly before standing and kissing the top of her head. "Get some sleep sweetheart. We're infiltrating Hogwarts soon."

As Sirius walked out of her bedroom, he passed Harry at the doorway and leant down, kissing the top of the boy's head as well. Hermione smiled at the sight, never before feeling more like siblings with the Boy Who Lived than in that very moment.

"Hey," he said as he approached her, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets. "How're you feeling?"

She shrugged and moved over to allow him room to scoot into the bed beside her. "Better," she admitted. "No more seizures, very little pain. I'm ready to jump back in the thick of it with you."

Harry frowned as he draped an arm around her shoulders, twirling a strand of her black hair around his index finger and lightly tugging on it absentmindedly. "What if . . . maybe you should stay," he advised.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry Potter—"

He winced at her tone. "Hermione, I can't lose you. I thought you were going to die and it would have been all my—"

"It is  _not_ your fault," she hissed at him. "I am in this no matter what. Harry, even if it weren't for you, I would still be a target because I'm a—"

"You're not, though," a voice said, interrupting her from the doorway. Harry and Hermione both turned to see a nervous looking Ron standing there, hands in his pockets, visibly anxious about stepping a foot into the actual room. "Not a Muggle-born. Not anymore."

Hermione smiled sadly at him and tilted her head in a gesture that silently invited him inside. He smiled and walked in, taking up the opposite side of the bed, sandwiching the witch between both of the boys. "Sorry it took me so long to show up," Ron mumbled and Hermione smiled her silent understanding and forgiveness at him.

She looked down at a single curl of hair that fell over her shoulder as Ron twirled it around his fingers, a recent nervous habit, she had noticed, that he had picked up from Harry. The hair was black, the colour of a raven's wings, the colour of the midnight sky, of obsidian and onyx. Black like her name. She wasn't Hermione Granger anymore. She was Hermione Black, pureblood. She didn't know how to be a pureblood, not especially in this war when it all came down to blood. The scars on her forearm were supposed to have been a reminder—something to constantly tell herself who and what she was and her value in the wizarding world to those who wanted nothing but to oppress her, cast her out, or kill her off. Now, the words were a mockery of something she felt she used to be.

"I don't care," she said, more to herself than to the boys. "I . . . it doesn't matter what my blood status is. I'm in this war and I'm on the right side and I will fight for that side no matter what. I'm not leaving you alone in this. Never," she promised them.

Harry sadly nodded his head, clearly knowing what her response would have been. "Sirius doesn't want you to go," he said and then smirked. "To be fair, he doesn't want me to go either."

She rolled her eyes. "He's stubborn."

Ron snorted. "Don't even ask what my mum thinks about all of this. Any time she brings it up I tell her that at least Ginny's tucked away at Hogwarts. She clutches her chest all dramatically and starts praising Merlin."

"I wish I knew how to keep everyone safe," Harry confessed.

Hermione frowned at him. "It's war, Harry. People are going to get hurt."

"I know. Just . . . I hope it's none of  _our_ people," he said and Ron nodded his agreement.

Hermione winced. "Harry . . . my . . . father, Regulus . . . he was a Death Eater."

Ron turned his gaze away from her, clearly still not entirely comfortable over the news that one of his best friends had turned out to be a pureblood. And not just  _any_ pureblood but damn near Wizarding royalty. Not that the Weasleys ever cared for such things. The news that her father had been a Death Eater was also obviously eating away at Ron's very strict black and white way of thinking.

"I know," Harry said and sat up to turn and look at her, realising his words must have offended her. "But he wasn't . . . I mean, he changed. He fought for the right side in the end. He died a hero."

"But he was  _still_ a Death Eater," she said. "So was Professor Snape. What does . . . do you think . . . do you think they're  _all_ bad? Malfoy didn't identify us when Bellatrix—"

Harry's and Ron's eyes both widened. "He tried killing Professor Dumbledore. He Imperiused Madam Rosmerta, cursed Katie Bell, and poisoned Ron," Harry said. "I don't think he would have killed Professor Dumbledore in the end . . . but he let Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder to silently let him know that she understood and she wasn't trying to defend the Slytherin's actions, but she did have a point to make. "Professor Snape  _did_ kill Professor Dumbledore."

Harry furrowed his brow. "He's explained why."

Ron scoffed in reply.

"Do you think he's killed before?" she asked her friend, watching as he emotionally struggled over the question. "Do you think they just hand out Dark Marks for the hell of it? You show your pureblood credentials and suddenly you're just in Voldemort's inner circle? What did they do to get in, Harry? Who did they hurt? Who did they kill? I think it's highly unlikely that Professor Snape has been sitting around brewing potions while the rest of the Death Eaters go out on revels and kill and torture people," she said angrily. "Who do you think my father killed to earn his Mark?" she asked, her voice rising and breaking at the same time.

"Hermione . . ." Harry pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. "Don't do this. He . . . there  _is_ forgiveness. He redeemed himself. Snape redeemed himself."

"What about the Death Eaters we're going to be fighting?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "They're different."

"Why?" she pleaded, her heart clenching painfully. "Because they haven't redeemed themselves  _yet_? What if . . . Harry we're going to fight these people and we don't know who they are or why they're doing any of this. I don't know why my father was a Death Eater. What if we go into battle and I kill one of them? What if I kill Pansy Parkinson's dad? Theo Nott's dad is a Death Eater, but he was always nice to me. What if I kill his father? What if I kill Malfo—?"

"You're not going to kill anyone," Ron said firmly.

"I don't want  _anyone_ to die," she told him. "They all deserve trials. Fair trials, unlike what happened to Sirius."

Harry nodded in understanding, but then he smirked as he tugged on one of her unruly curls. "What about Voldemort?" he asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and actually laughed. "I'll make an exception for him, I think."


	6. Fratres

**May 1976**

He really,  _really_ hadn't wanted to spend his fifteenth birthday in a fight, but fucking Severus had apparently decided to make the  _entire world_  revolve around him—which was quite the change of pace for Regulus—and suddenly every damn move made between Gryffindor and Slytherin had something to do either with Severus's ridiculous outburst by the Black Lake or Evans's sobbing hysterics over the disbanding of their friendship.

"He has to stop it," Marlene was saying as she followed behind Regulus while he made his way down to the lake. If she was determined to yell at him in order to drag him into the theatrics their friends had created, he wasn't about to let her do it in the middle of the Great Hall like she'd clearly planned on doing.

"Reg," she said when she finally caught up with him, tugging on the sleeve of his robe to draw his attention. "He's been following her around and it's getting to the point where others are going to get involved," she told him, and he knew exactly what that meant. Others meant Potter, Sirius, Lupin, and most likely Pettigrew, but only because he was always there, tagging along and clapping like an idiotic puppet. "He threatened to sleep outside of Gryffindor Tower and the Fat Lady was throwing a fit about it. Alice threatened to get McGonagall and Mary had to take Lily aside to tell her everything about the watch she gave him in case he tries to invoke some pureblood custom indicating that they had an understand—"

"He wouldn't do that," Regulus said, rising to the defence of his friend. Severus was a lot of things—including being an absolute idiot at this very moment—but he wasn't someone who would try to trick a Muggle-born into a betrothal in order to get her attention. "Besides, Severus is a half-blood," he stated calmly, as though that made all the difference.

The ends of Marlene's curls began to spark and he did his best to hide the fact that he was looking to where her wand was stashed in case she tried to hex him for his comments. "I don't care if he's the offspring of a hippogriff and a kneazle!" she screamed, "He is  _stalking_ her!"

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Well, why doesn't she just talk to him?"

"Because he called her a Mudblood!" Marlene said, stomping her foot for the added effect. He supposed she thought it made her look angrier when in reality it made her look like a little girl having a temper tantrum, and he was having difficulties not admitting that he found it adorable.

When she audibly growled at him for a lack of response, he sighed dramatically. " _Everyone_  calls her a . . ." he began but caught the fire in her gaze and backed out a bit, self-preservation at the forefront of his mind. "But not me, of course not. Just . . . fuck, Marley, she can't toss aside years of friendship with the bloke just because he called her a name in a really weak moment."

She frowned. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"What Potter and my brother did?" he asked and shook his head. No self-respecting wizard would openly admit that his pants were pulled down publicly, in front of a group of peers and had to be rescued by a witch. "No. I had to weasel the information out of a couple of Ravenclaws who saw the whole thing. But that's  _exactly_ why I can't do a damn thing about him, Marley. It's  _my brother_  that did it. Add this to the situation with the werew—" he stopped mid-word, cursing himself for being too caught up in the moment and cursing Marlene for making him that way.

She raised a blond eyebrow. "What did you say?"

"What? Nothing."

"You were going to say werewolf. Why would you say werewolf?"

"Why?" he asked her, noting the pink tinge to her cheeks. "What do you know?"

"What do  _you_ know?"

They stared at one another for a long moment of silence, Regulus questioning her intelligence, which he knew was higher than most of her fellow lions. Then again, he was genuinely shocked that most hadn't already figured out Lupin's secret. "I know that I'm a Slytherin and I'll be damned if I'm going to give up information just for the hell of it," he said and smirked at her.

She folded her arms across her chest defiantly. "What do you want in exchange?"

"From you?" He grinned. "A little less clothing could be optional—Ow!" he snapped and recoiled from her fist as she punched him in the shoulder.

"Don't act like your brother!" she snapped at him.

Regulus actually laughed at her fury. "Why not? Whatever he does  _clearly_ works for him."

"Yes, that's because he's a laughing, giggly, and idiotic Gryffindor."

"Aren't all Gryff—?"

She stuck her pointed finger in his face and he was half-tempted to bite it. "Watch it," she threatened. "And you're a Slytherin. If you use your brother's lines, they'll come off . . . I don't know, creepy," she said, ignoring the offended expression that crossed his face. "He gets away with it."

Regulus frowned. "He gets away with a lot. Can't you . . . I don't know, have Potter or Lupin rein him in or something?"

Marlene scoffed. "James? Not likely; he's worse than Sirius. And now that Snape's called Lily that word—"

"It's  _just_ a word," he insisted. While he'd seen the impact of the slur through his years at Hogwarts, it had taken him a long time to truly understand it. Growing up in a pureblood household he'd been taught what Muggles and Mudbloods were, but it was only upon arriving at Hogwarts that he understood how the two were even connected. He'd never known what a Muggle-born was until he'd finally met one. Still . . . they were all just words to him.

"—he'll never let up on him," Marlene continued, ignoring Regulus's interjection completely. "And now Lily's not there to defend him anymore. And it's  _not_ just a word," she said, jumping back to his statement, "It means something to people who are hurt by it. Words can hurt people, Regulus!"

His patience was running thin. Words didn't hurt people. Fists and wands and weapons hurt people. The broken bones and bloodied lips that Sirius received at the hands of their parents . . .  _that_ hurt. Lily Evans didn't know the meaning of pain.

"She's just being a baby!" he said angrily. "It's just a fucking  _word_ , Marlene! Evans has no idea what real pain is! She lives a comfortable Muggle life, with two parents who adore her, who don't even care that she's a witch. Then she comes to Hogwarts and gets mollycoddled by all the professors because she's a know-it-all little swot! She prances around the school ignoring our culture and customs like she's above us, all while dragging Severus around like a backup plan in case she doesn't snag one of the rich pureblood idiots that pant after her, like Potter!" he hissed and then threw out, "And don't even get me started on Potter!"

Marlene stood back and watched his rant. When he'd finished, she shoved him hard in the chest, nearly knocking him over. "Don't yell at me, you arse! And don't talk about my friend like that! You have no idea what her life is like! Don't you dare judge her!"

"And you don't know  _Severus's_ life! Or my brother's!" he shot back at her, furious at Severus for causing this problem, at Evans for being dramatic, and at Sirius for starting the whole thing, to begin with. "You fucking Gryffindors are so happy to go about thinking that you're better than everyone because Dumbledore pats you on the head when you do something good, and you're quick to judge when anyone else steps out of line, especially if they're not in your own House!"

"Only when it comes to Dark Magic, yes!" Marlene said, taking note of the way that Regulus briefly flinched at the words. "We  _are_ quick to judge! You think it was  _one word_  that ended Lily's friendship with Severus? She's not weak. But she  _is_ observant. She's been watching Severus reading Dark Arts books, books that aren't available here at Hogwarts, even in the Restricted Section, which means he either bought them himself in Knockturn Alley—"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be dramatic."

"—or another Slytherin gave them to him! Your brother may be a skirt chaser, a trouble-maker and, above all, a bully when he wants to be, but at least he is not a future Death Eater!" she spat.

Panic flooded his chest and he reached out for the witch, placing a hand against her mouth as he stared at her incredulously. "Keep your voice down!" he hissed at her. "Are you out of your mind?" he asked, his gaze flickering around the grounds, searching out anyone who might be within hearing distance.

Marlene struggled against his grip and finally broke free as she sunk her teeth into his palm. "No! Keep Snape away from my friend," she snarled. "Who knows what horrible things he'd do to her since she's nothing but a filthy Mudblood, right?" she said, glaring at him before turning on her heels and storming off back to the castle.

_Fucking Severus._

* * *

Regulus had fully intended on returning to the dungeons to confront his friend and drag him out of his sullen mood by force if necessary—that is, if he didn't hex him first. When he stepped into the common room and made his way toward the fifth year dormitories, he caught sight of a group of seventh years standing outside of Severus's room. "What's going on here?" he asked as he approached them all, taking note of the extra pale look on Severus's already sallow face.

Mulciber turned and grinned down at Regulus. "None of your business, Black."

"Piss off, Mulciber," Regulus said, not in the mood to deal with the older boy. "I'm not afraid of you."

The brawny wizard stepped closer in an attempt to intimidate the younger Slytherin. "Maybe you  _should_ be. Maybe that brother of yours should be," Mulciber threatened, not even being subtle about it.

Regulus sighed in disappointment. Sometimes it was clear that the Sorting Hat only took into account an eleven-year-old's family when placing them in a House. He had a thought to write the Board of Governors, suggesting that in addition to Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, they implement a fifth House simply called, "Other" for people like Mulciber who were too stupid to be properly placed.

"Do I look to be standing in your way?" Regulus finally asked, officially tired of everyone assuming he was Sirius's guard dog. Lucius Malfoy had graduated Hogwarts already and the protection that was offered to Sirius on Regulus's behalf had been lifted. It was clear, however, from the beginning of the year that the rest of Slytherin House had been using Lucius and Regulus as an excuse to not attack the Marauder.

"There is the pesky problem where Sirius is never without his little gang of happy misfits," Regulus continued and smirked at the older boy. "Shame that despite looking like absolute and utter idiots, they're quite adept at duelling. Didn't I hear that Potter bested you in Defence last week?" he asked Mulciber who was now growling down at him. "Knocked you on your arse with a Melofors Jinx and you were walking around with a pumpkin on your head all afternoon." He chuckled at the memory as Mulciber's face grew red. "Isn't that a spell we all learned to cast and counter in  _second year_?"

"You're on thin ice, Black. I could mop the floor with you if I wanted."

"Can you even afford a mop?" Regulus asked. "If not, I'm certain to have a few spare Sickles lying about."

Mulciber hissed, "I'll kill you, you little—"

"You could try," Regulus said, clearly unafraid. Even if the rest of Slytherin House didn't treat him like a prince—which they did—Slytherins were loyal to their own and Mulciber openly threatening Regulus in front of witnesses would do nothing for his own reputation. He'd be labelled a traitor and eliminated.

"Then again, I think you already  _want_ to," Regulus said, testing to see how far he could push the older boy before he finally snapped. "I can see it your eyes. Rage. You'd love nothing more than to curse the life right out of me." He sneered. "But you won't. Because I may be younger, may be related to the great Gryffindor git, but I am Regulus  _fucking_ Black, and I don't cower to  _peasants_ like you, pureblood or not."

Whether it was Regulus's confidence or the mention of his family name, which was as high as one could get without being a Malfoy, Mulciber backed off. The older boy was still fuming, but he was smart enough to know better than to attack a Black—a  _Slytherin_ Black at that. The seventh years all turned and left Severus's room, slamming the door behind them.

"Do Blacks just naturally make enemies everywhere they go?" Severus asked.

"We're very charming people," Regulus commented dryly as he made his way further into the room, pushing aside Severus's books to make room for a seat on the bed beside his friend. "You should meet my parents. Then again, you're a half-blood which in their opinion is just as bad as any blood-traitor or Mudblood," he admitted. "Speaking of Mudbloods . . ."

Severus turned and glared at his friend. "Don't use that word in front of me."

"Why not?" Regulus shrugged. "I hear you've become quite fond of the term."

The other boy frowned. "I didn't mean to," he said softly.

Regulus nodded. "No. I understand that. But  _she_ won't," he insisted. "So do the school a favour and stop moping in the common room, grow some bollocks and, for the love of Salazar, stop stalking the chit outside Gryffindor Tower. You're making an absolute arse of yourself."

Severus turned and narrowed his eyes at the younger boy. "Didn't know you cared."

"About you?" Regulus scoffed, insulted, "Don't be stupid," he said. They were best friends, despite the fact that Severus apparently reserved that title for the redhead who was currently cursing his very existence. "Your antics have caused an avalanche of shite that has finally tumbled through  _my_ door."

The older boy raised a black brow. "McKinnon?" he asked and Regulus nodded. "Apologies for interrupting your grand love affair," Severus said sarcastically. "You won't have to worry about it anymore. I'm done embarrassing myself over Lily."

 _Praise Salazar!_  Regulus thought to himself. "Finally given up? Good for you. Move on. Forget the incident ever happened."

"I doubt that option will be available to be," Severus drawled. "Mulciber came to deliver me a letter."

"He looks a little inept for an owl," Regulus commented thoughtfully. "Who's it from?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

"And what does the grand Slytherin Prince want of you?" he asked, trying not to appear overly intrigued by the fact that Lucius Malfoy had personally reached out to a half-blood still at Hogwarts, friends or not.

Severus looked down at the letter in his hands and whispered quietly, "He wants to meet me."

"Has he forgotten you already?" Regulus asked, leaning back on his elbows and looking far too relaxed. It made him the near mirror image of his brother, something that irked Severus to no end. "Shame. I like to think you leave quite the impression on—"

"Not Malfoy," Severus hissed. " _He_  wants to meet me."

Silence filled the room and Regulus's relaxed demeanour fell away in favour of stiff defensiveness. It didn't take an idiot to figure out who Severus meant. "Why?" he finally asked.

Severus swallowed, glancing up at his closed door he threw a specific Silencing Charm at it, one Regulus recognised as one of his friend's own creations. "Mulciber and Avery . . . they wrote to their fathers and told them what I said to Lily. Me publicly saying . . . they thought I'd finally chosen a side. Apparently, Slughorn has also been talking about my brewing skills to the wrong people. Or the right people depending on how you look at it." He frowned at the thought.

"How do  _you_ look at it?"

Severus began, "I don't . . . I don't think I could hurt her," he admitted. "I know I couldn't hurt her."

"They'll make you hurt  _someone_ ," Regulus reminded him.

He wondered what it was like in other Houses. He imagined that the Ravenclaws all got together to prepare for exams, quizzing one another. Hufflepuffs likely sat in front of the fireplace, braiding each other's hair. Everyone knew that the Gryffindors played Exploding Snap and talked about Quidditch non-stop. Slytherins, at least as of the last year or so, discussed the Dark Lord and whether or not it would be advantageous to join in his cause. There were rumours and stories and myths about the wizard whose name was not supposed to be spoken, though he had no idea why. Some said he wanted to take over the Ministry. Others talked about his plans to eradicate Muggle-borns and return the Wizarding world to the hands of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. No one appeared to know who the man's family was or what exactly he was getting in exchange for his efforts. What everyone  _did_ know, was that to join his cause, meant sacrifice; violence, bloodshed, and a magical tattoo on your arm that linked you to him. Regulus didn't want to ponder the significance of such a spell.

"Despite the  _unfortunate circumstance_  of having a Muggle father," Severus said with disdain. "My mother's former estate, prior to her disinheritance, was considered somewhat impressive in its time. Slytherins all, and purists at that. They're recruiting among the old families."

"Which old families?"

Severus eyed his friend with disapproval as though he were questioning his intelligence. "The oldest. Malfoy's already been marked," he said quietly. "So has your cousin and her husband."

Regulus looked up in shock. "How do you know this? I doubt Lucius would put things like that in a letter." Of course, it was no secret that Bella would be eager to jump on board. Her distaste for all things Muggle was widely known and if anyone was handing her a free-for-all Mudblood slaughtering buffet, she would take it no questions asked. But Malfoy would never put himself under the thumb of anyone else without there being something in it for him, and with all the power and money in the world already at his fingertips, that could only mean that the Dark Lord had something over the Malfoys; it was likely that Lucius's father was already tied to the man.

"Mulciber has a big mouth and brags too much for his own good," Severus replied. "He's to take the Mark this summer. I suppose I'm being brought in to see if—"

"Are you going to do it?" Regulus asked, interrupting him.

Severus shrugged. "Maybe if I prove myself, I can see if he'll make an exception for—"

Grey eyes widened. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" Regulus asked incredulously. "Severus . . . you read the  _Daily Prophet_  every morning. You  _know_ what they do. You  _know_ what they're about. And you're willing to just sign yourself up so easily?"  _And all in the hope that the Dark Lord really didn't care whether or not a half-blood kept a Muggle-born as a pet?_

"Do I have a choice?" his friend bitterly asked.

Regulus shook his head, not knowing the answer. It did, however, bring up another question. "Will  _I_?"

* * *

**June 1976**

He'd been surprised to find that his mother was perfectly agreeable to letting him meet up with Severus over the summer. He'd thought about lying and saying that he needed help with early O.W.L. revision but decided to test out the truth first. Shockingly, Walburga Black had no qualms about her favoured son spending time in Diagon Alley with a half-blood.

He was instantly anxious when he stepped through the fireplace with a new cauldron and several books in tow to find his parents waiting for him; his mother looking happy and manic and his father all but mentally checked out, glass of firewhisky permanently attached to his hand.

"Regulus, darling," Walburga said as she snapped her fingers at Kreacher, who silently took Regulus's things from him, vanishing from sight. "Did you and your friend enjoy yourself? I've heard wonderful things about that Snape boy."

Shocked by the statement as his mother led him by the shoulders into the dining room where supper was already set out, Regulus blurted, "He's a half-blood," in an attempt to test the limits of his mother's newfound tolerance.

She waved off his words in a similar move that she used to brush off doxies. "Some things just can't be helped."

Regulus frowned. "But you always said that—"

"Think of it like this," she said, interrupting her son. "House-elves are simple, little creatures that we keep underfoot. They have magic, but it is nowhere  _near_ as powerful as our magic. Some house-elves are helpful to keep around to do the dirty work. Some house-elves have odd little talents that you like to have on hand. And then other house-elves should be put out of their misery," she said and gestured to the wall of decapitated elves. "Do you understand?"

He raised a brow, forcing an amused expression to please her. "Severus is apparently my house-elf?"

Walburga laughed and the sound was much too high for his liking. Orion, sitting opposite his wife, cringed. "Don't be silly, my darling boy," she cooed, petting his hair affectionately. " _He_  will be the house-elf of someone  _much_ more important than us."

He felt that same coldness in the pit of his stomach that he got when Severus mentioned being invited to Malfoy Manor to meet the Dark Lord. He knew that the event had already taken place, but not once would Severus mention it during their outing and Regulus couldn't decide whether or not he actually wanted to know the details. "Are we not the most important people in the world any longer, Mother?"

Orion glared at his son. "Watch the cheek," he cautioned the boy.

Regulus nodded his head. "Apologies, I meant no offence," he promised and then looked up as his parents began eating. "Are we not waiting for Sirius, or has he run off with his friends for the summer already?"

"Your brother isn't feeling very well," Walburga said, bringing a glass of wine to her lips. "He's in his bedroom."

Regulus briefly glanced toward the stairway that he could see through the open door, his heart rate accelerating at the sweet tone his mother used when speaking of Sirius. It was a tone of warning that he'd learned long ago. "What's . . . what's wrong with him?"

"Oh, he'll be perfectly fine, I'm sure," she insisted. "Just in case, though, I would suggest staying away from him," she said, her words an obvious threat. "Now, we have a gift for you, my lovely boy."

Orion reached into his pocket and retrieved a black velvet box with the family crest visible on the top. "Your mother and I believe that you're old enough to wear it," he said, pushing the box across the table toward his youngest son, "and you  _will_ wear it with honour and pride."

Regulus hesitantly opened the box and forced himself not to vomit at the sight. "This is the Black family ring," he said quietly remembering the first time he'd seen it. He had been nine and Sirius's eleventh birthday had just taken place. The whole family gathered in front of the tapestry where their parents made a grand ceremony of presenting the family ring to their eldest son and heir. Sirius had taken it and worn it for years and, until this very moment, Regulus had been under the impression it was still on his brother's hand.

He pulled the ring from the box to observe it closely. His parents might have thought he was admiring the details when in reality he was looking for blood.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Walburga beamed. "It's goblin-made, of course, and is charmed to automatically resize to fit the wearer. I think when you go back to school in September, you will be the talk of the common room. All the young society witches will be eager to see it. The heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black."

"This is  _Sirius's_ ring, mother," Regulus said without thinking.

"No, dear," she corrected him. "This is  _your_ ring. You are the heir to the Ancient and Noble—"

He could feel the walls closing in on him, his vision blurring. " _Sirius_ is the heir. Firstborn son. This is  _Sirius's_ ring."

Orion narrowed his eyes. "Are you arguing with your mother? Over your birthright?"

 _Birthright?_  Regulus swallowed. "No . . . I mean, of course not, father," he cleared his throat and took a long drink of water from his glass in hopes of stopping the sweat from forming across his brow. "I was taken aback. I'm humbled, truly," he lied with impressive practice. "You both honour me with a gift such as this and a title to match it. I will not fail you."

Walburga grinned. "We know you won't."

* * *

When his parents finally left for a Ministry fundraiser to help support improvements being made to Azkaban prison, Regulus ran as fast as he could up the stairs to find Sirius's room locked. "Fuck!" Regulus muttered and ran up several more flights to his parents' bedroom where he began digging through drawers until he found what he was looking for: Sirius's confiscated wand.

Making his way back down the stairs, Regulus aimed the wand at Sirius's door, " _Alohomora_!" and sighed with relief when it opened. An owl from the Improper Use of Magic office would likely arrive bearing Sirius's name on it, but hopefully, by that time it wouldn't be something Regulus needed to be concerned with.

"Mother of Merlin . . ." Regulus gasped at the sight he was greeted with upon entering the room. Instead of sick in bed, as his mother insisted, Sirius was laying on the rug in the centre of his room in a pool of crimson. There was a large gash on the back of his head where black hair was matting in dried blood, and an already purple bruise covered the right side of his face. "Sirius!" Regulus shouted as he fell to his knees beside his brother. "Sirius, open your eyes. You stupid son of . . . what did you tell them? What did you say this time?"

Sirius's eyes fluttered open. "T-they wanted me to go to the Malfoys," he mumbled out the words. "I w-wouldn't go. I know what they . . . what they want me to do."

"You need a Healer."

Sirius shook his head, wincing when the pain—which had apparently temporarily abated—returned. "Will you owl the . . . the Potters?"

Regulus's eyes widened. "Are you insane? You want us  _both_ dead?"

Sirius tried to sit up but the blood loss was too great. "I'm not staying . . . here."

"Then we agree on something," Regulus snapped at him. "If I don't get you to St. Mungo's, you'll bleed out on the carpet and Kreacher will kill himself trying to clean it up."

Sirius weakly laughed. "Blood-traitor's blood," he muttered and then fell unconscious once again.

Regulus's hands were shaking as he stared at his brother, who was likely dying in front of his eyes. "It's just blood," Regulus muttered. "It's just a word, it's just blood, it's just . . . why does everyone have to make a big deal out of . . . fuck. Sirius?" He looked down and nudged Sirius with the chestnut wand in his hand. "Sirius! Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don't die! Don't die! Kreacher!"

With a soft pop, the spritely elf appeared beside him. "Young Master Regulus calls for Kreacher?"

"Kreacher I want you to Apparate Sirius to St. Mungo's."

The house-elf scowled down at the bloodied body of Sirius and then hissed viciously. "Kreacher is not supposed to go near the filthy stain on the Ancient and Noble House of Black!"

Regulus growled defensively. "You are  _my_ house-elf and are bound to obey  _me_ and I am giving you a direct order!" he said, noting the look of disbelief on the elf's face. His parents had clearly given Kreacher an order to stay away from Sirius, which meant they knew exactly what would happen if left alone. Sirius would die. An unfortunate accident. They'd publicly mourn and Regulus would be practically deified in the aftermath of Sirius's death.  _Oh, fuck._  This was too well orchestrated.

"Kreacher," Regulus said, lowering his tone and putting on a mask of indifference that he'd perfected over the years under Severus's and Lucius's tutelage. "Apparate my brother to St. Mungo's and . . . and . . . and leave him there," he said, turning his nose up in feigned disgust. "Can't you see? He's bleeding all over the carpets and further staining our honourable house. I won't stand for such things. Get him out of here and tell the Healers that greet you to call the Potters," he said and then added, "Blood-traitors deserve blood-traitors, do they not?"

Kreacher seemed overly pleased with his orders and explanation, clapping his hands in delight, unaware as Regulus slipped Sirius's wand in the pocket of the Muggle jeans his brother was wearing. The house-elf finally stopped his little dance and bowed low before Regulus. "Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of Black," he said, gripping a handful of Sirius's blood-soaked hair, and Disapparated them both.

Regulus promptly vomited.

* * *

By the time he showed up at Marlene's house it was nearing midnight. He'd ordered Kreacher to keep silent about taking Sirius to St. Mungo's, letting his parents believe that somehow their eldest son had recovered long enough to break out of his room, retrieve his wand, and run away. How Sirius escaped wouldn't matter. He'd be blasted off the tree regardless, and Regulus, far away visiting friends to show off his new ring—at least that's what the letter he had left behind indicated—was innocent of aiding his brother.

"Reg?" Marlene said as she stepped out her front door when her mother mentioned a boy on the porch. "How did you get here?"

"Knight Bus," he mumbled, sticking to the shadows.

She stepped forward, a concerned expression on her face. "Are you . . . Reggie? You're bleeding!" She gasped and reached for him to search for a wound.

"Not mine."

"What . . . what did you . . .?"

"He can't know." Regulus shook his head. "I needed to tell someone, I can't keep it in anymore," he said, his voice breaking as he struggled for breath. "They tried to kill my brother. My parents they . . . they tried to  _kill_ him. To replace him with me. I got him out but . . . he can't know. Marley, if they think I helped him . . ." He shook his head, unable to think of what they'd do. "He'll have been blasted off the tree when they find out he's left. He's not my brother anymore. They'll want me to say he's not my brother." His grey eyes were filled with unshed tears, and when she reached up to touch his cheek he blinked, effectively breaking the dam. "He can't know. I have to . . . he needs to hate me now. It'll be safer."

"We should tell someone what happened. An Auror," Marlene whispered.

He shook his head. "Father can buy off the Aurors. Sirius has ended up in St. Mungo's so many times over the years and I know the Healers report it. They're required to, but still . . . nothing happens. It doesn't stop. It never stops. I think . . . I think it's going to get much worse," he said, reaching for both of her hands, bringing them to his mouth where he placed kisses to her fingers, ignoring the fact that it wasn't entirely appropriate to do so. "I think they want me to do something bad," he admitted.

Marlene's eyes widened. "You don't mean . . . Regulus, please don't say . . ." She panicked and tears started prickling at the corners of her own eyes.

"I love you."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

His eyes met hers and he reached up, tucking a blond curl behind her ear. "I've loved you since I was eleven years old," he admitted. "I had everything money could buy growing up, but not love. Not friendship. I only had Sirius and now he's gone. I had Severus but they're . . . they're bringing him in too and I don't know if I can trust him if that happens. Not unless they make me . . . all I have left in the world is you."

Her bottom lip quivered at the declaration and her heart swelled with admiration and affection and fear and sympathy for the boy in front of her, soaked in his brother's blood and pleading for her to keep his secrets to spare himself and Sirius both of a worse fate. "I . . . I love you too, Regulus," she whispered. "So much. You're my best friend."

His shoulders sagged in relief and he sighed loudly, releasing her hands and reaching into his pocket. "Then . . . then honour me by accepting this gift," he said and pulled a simple string of pearls to present to her. "I know it should be something better. Diamonds, emeralds, or rubies," he said softly. "But they say that pearls are the tears of the gods. Perhaps you're my Aphrodite."

"I'm not a goddess," Marlene said with a short laugh.

"Helen of Troy then," Regulus insisted as he clasped the necklace around her throat. "The most beautiful woman in the world."

Marlene swallowed, not used to him being so openly sweet. "Men went to war because of her."

Regulus nodded. "Maybe you'll keep men from going to war," he suggested. "White pearls," he said, swallowing down the bubbling emotions. "Are for purity . . . and . . ."

"Reggie . . ."

"Marley, I don't know what's going to happen, and I'll never ask you to follow me into . . . wherever I might have to go," he promised her. "But I will try my best to protect you. I need you to know that. I need you to know that whatever I might do or say . . . you know who I really am."

Tears finally spilt over onto her cheeks. "You're a good person, Reggie. I know that."

"Please remind me, if I forget?" he begged her.

She nodded and leant forward, brushing her lips gently against his. Regulus responded immediately to the kiss. His first kiss. Their first kiss. Despite being highly inexperienced, he did what he thought Sirius would do and pulled the witch tight up against him, parting her lips with his own and drinking in the sweetness of her breath. One hand pressed into the small of her back, the other at the nape of her neck where he twirled a curl of her hair around his finger. His tongue pressed past her lips and she made a mewling noise in response and suddenly he understood everything his brother had ever said to him in regards to the subject of witches.

She felt soft and warm against his hands, and she tasted of goodness.

His parents were set to sacrifice him to the Dark Lord.

Marlene McKinnon would be his salvation.


	7. Pax

**May 1998**

Hermione Granger would be his damnation.

Draco was certain of it.

He should have been certain of it seven years ago when he'd first met the little know-it-all on the Hogwarts Express—then again, it hadn't been raining Fiendfyre at the time.

"Bloody hell, Vince! What were you thinking?!"

Draco had known what his friend had been thinking, at least slightly. The very sight of Hermione Granger, even with black hair and grey eyes—something he had yet to question as there was a battle going on—had set something loose in Vince's brain that shouted brainlessly, "Mudblood. Must kill." When the Killing Curse sent her way hadn't worked—much to everyone's relief except, naturally, Crabbe—the idiot had set loose a Fiendfyre Curse that trapped them all inside the Room of Hidden Things, which turned into a bloody oven.

He ripped Vince's wand out of his hand since he clearly could no longer be trusted with it. Draco's mother's wand had been lost beneath a pile of things a good thirty feet back and his original wand— _his_ wand—was in Potter's hands. The blond Slytherin made a mental note to fetch it back as soon as possible—as soon as a flaming chimaera wasn't barrelling toward him. "Run!" he shouted at Vince who was paling as he stared at the fiery beasts he'd created.

He could hear Granger screaming Potter's name beyond the fire and the sound of it grated on his nerves to a point where, had he not been running away from Fiendfyre at the time, he would have turned around and Silenced her for it. When they'd reached an impasse in the room, encircled in the flames, he winced and looked around for a way out, dragging Greg who was still Stunned. "No!  _Rennervate!_ " he shouted, finally reviving his friend.

Greg's eyes opened and he screamed at the sight of the rising inferno.

"Shut up!" Draco bellowed, dragging Greg to his feet. "Look for a way out! Where's Potter?" he demanded to know, looking through the smoke.

"Forget Potter!" Vince yelled and turned to make a dash for what looked like an exit.

Draco turned to call him an idiot; it wasn't as though he were looking to  _save_ the Boy Who Lived. It was, however, common knowledge by this point, that the Gryffindor had a penchant for escaping death; if there was ever a time to stick close to the Boy Wonder and his Weasel sidekick, now would be it. However, when he tried to tell that to Vince, he watched as a giant fiery dragon crashed down upon his friend, snapping jaws of flames around him and swallowing him whole.

Greg was crying. "No, no, no . . ."

"Vince!" Draco screamed.

"Malfoy!" a voice called from above them, as the flaming dragon turned its head in their direction. His silver eyes swept upward to spot Potter flying overhead on one broom and Weasel and Granger on another; he felt immense relief at the sight. Potter swooped down, trying to grab his hand, which Draco thought slightly amusing considering seven years ago the boy couldn't be bothered to do so.

"Me first!" Greg shouted and grabbed Potter's outstretched arm, shoving Draco to the side in a sprint for survival. Later, if they lived through this day, he would likely tell Greg that he understood; self-preservation was the Slytherin way, after all. But right now, Greg was nothing but an arsehole who just stole Draco's ride, forcing him to look to Weasel and Granger for help.

He looked up, desperate for help when he caught sight of the arm being extended to him. He winced at the sight of the scar on the skin spelling out  _Mudblood_. Despite everything he'd been through—everything  _they'd_ been through—his initial reaction at the sight of the word on her flesh caused him to recoil.

"You want to stay here?" Weasley yelled.

 _He'd been five years old when his mother caught him trying to convince the house-elves to bring him pudding before dinner one night. He was scolded and then told, "Don't touch the pudding_ until  _you've had your supper."_

 _He was nine when his father caught him staring covetously at the wand enclosed within the serpent-headed cane. When he attempted to reach for it, he'd been disciplined and then told, "You may not touch a wand_ until  _you receive your own in two years' time."_

_When he received his Hogwarts letter it had apparently been time for "the talk". His father sat him down and explained—in great detail—the problem with Mudbloods, also called Muggle-borns, and how they were magically inferior and a plague on their society. "Do not befriend them, do not mingle with them, and do not touch them," his father had insisted firmly and Draco waited for the usual "until" that generally followed a "do not". It never came._

_Do not befriend, mingle with, or touch Mudbloods. The point was very clear._

_So when Draco stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express at eleven-years-old and first met Hermione Granger, who excitedly attempted to tell him the entire history of Hogwarts, he assumed she had been pureblood and was, therefore, acceptable company in the eyes of his parents. She'd jabbered on and on about the castle, its enchantments, and Draco grinned at the way her eyes lit up when she told him about how the magic first felt when she had gone to Ollivander's to get her wand. He understood the excitement and thrill of owning his very own wand._

_While he waited for Greg and Vince to track him down, having been told by his father that his childhood friends were to remain with him as often as possible because it was wise to travel in numbers, he enjoyed the company of the girl beside him who asked him at least fifty questions about his life, his family, and his anticipations for school._

" _Slytherin," he answered when she asked what House he thought he'd be sorted into. The girl made a contemplative face when he'd replied and then began listing the benefits of each House, making an audible note that a Muggle-born hadn't sorted into Slytherin in recorded history._

 _Draco laughed. "Well, no," he said. "They wouldn't would they? Slytherin's a House for_ true  _witches and wizards, not filthy—" he stopped at the look of horror on her face. "What?" he asked, confused by the way his new friend looked like she was about to cry. Then it hit him._

Granger leant further, stretching her arm out for him. "Malfoy! Take my hand!" she pleaded, her gaze desperate as grey met silver.

He took her hand, ignoring the voice of his father in the back of his head, after all, it wouldn't have been the first time. Draco swung his leg up and over the broom, gripping onto her waist for dear life and burying his nose in her hair.  _Merlin. . . how was it that even through the smoke she smelled like cinnamon?_

When they burst through a wall of smoke to greet clean air on the other side, the brooms and all five riders crashed to the ground, sounds of battle echoing in the nearby corridors. Draco fell to the side and lay face down, coughing, gasping, and retching as he tried to expel the smoke from his lungs.

" _Anapneo_ ," a familiar voice whispered nearby and Draco felt his airway clear, fresh oxygen flooding him instantly. He turned, blurry-eyed, to find Granger looking down at him with a worried expression. "Are you all ri—" she began to say.

"C-Crabbe . . ." Greg was muttering, his body shaking as he stared at the blank wall that hid the Room of Requirement. "C-Crabbe . . ."

"He's dead," Weasley said harshly.

Draco turned and glared at the redhead.

"Ronald!" Granger snapped.

There was silence for a brief moment and then a loud bang in another part of the castle. Potter was quick on his feet and Granger and Weasley behind him. "Granger!" Draco managed to shout. "Don't!"

She looked back at him, shaking her head before she turned and ran after the others.

 _Bloody Gryffindors_.

* * *

She was shaking as she helped to support Snape who was deathly pale and barely surviving. The antivenom they'd kept on hand after Nagini had attacked Mr Weasley just a couple years earlier had come in quite handy when the trio found their former Potions Master in the Shrieking Shack, bleeding out from the neck. Plenty of potions and some quick wand work that Hermione had learned during her unbearably boring recovery at Grimmauld Place under Snape's tutelage had the recently retired Headmaster of Hogwarts temporarily patched up.

" _You could have died!" Hermione yelled at him._

_Snape glowered at her. "That is not your concern, you stupid girl! Now be useful for once and grab the potion in my left pocket."_

She and Madam Pomfrey each insisted that he stay down, resting, but when Voldemort loudly declared the death of Harry Potter, Snape stood to see it with his own eyes.

She helped the man make his way to the opening of the castle to stand beside fellow Order members, Dumbledore's Army, and students who elected to stay behind and fight. They passed by George Weasley who was kneeling at the side of Fred, handing over a Pain Potion to help his twin with the broken leg he'd sustained when a wall crashed down on them. Sirius was moving quickly with everyone else, flanked by Remus and Tonks until he caught sight of Hermione and rushed to embrace her, quietly thanking the gods that she'd made it.

He and Snape shared a curt nod before their eyes were drawn forward at the sound of screaming.

Ginny rushed toward the Death Eaters, but Mr Weasley held her back. Hermione inwardly cringed at the sight of her friend in pain, wishing that the redhead could have been let in on the plan. But they needed real grief to sell it. She imagined that—if it all worked according to plan—Ginny would have a few things to say, loudly, to Harry.

When she caught sight of Harry's body in Hagrid's arms, instinctively Hermione moved forward only to be held back by her uncle. "It'll be okay," Sirius said quietly. "It'll be okay," he repeated, likely to remind himself.

The massive procession of Death Eaters came to a halt in front of the castle, Voldemort himself leading them.

Ginny was screaming in her father's arms. "No! Harry!"

"Stupid girl!" Voldemort hissed. "You cry for  _that_?" he asked, gesturing to Harry's body with a flick of his wand.  _The Elder Wand_ , Hermione noted. "Where was Harry Potter as you all collected your dead this past hour? While you all washed blood of loved ones from your hands and offered up prayers to your gods . . . while you fought bravely in the name of Harry Potter, he had already been dead! Nothing but a boy who relied on the sacrifice of others. And now . . . a  _dead_ boy."

"He's alive," Hermione whispered quietly. "He's alive. He's alive," she said over and over again until the felt Snape's hand squeezing her shoulder in support. She could feel Ron's hesitant hand in her own as well, and she let out a sigh of relief.

"Now is the time to declare yourself!" Voldemort shouted over the large crowd. "From this day forward, you put your faith in me! Give me your obedience, or suffer the consequences!"

No one moved.

Voldemort's red eyes scanned the crowd. "You," he said, pointing a finger toward Snape, "are supposed to be dead."

Snape sneered at the Dark wizard. "Sorry to disappoint you, my Lord."

"Perhaps," Voldemort began. "I will not offer clemency to . . .  _everyone_ ," he said, his focus still on Snape.

Bellatrix giggled beside him until her eyes fell on Hermione and she hissed. "My Lord." She turned, her manic stare was pleading and she prostrated herself at Voldemort's feet. "Give me Potter's Mudblood," she begged.

The Dark Lord smiled in amusement at the sight of the witch on her knees before him; his most loyal follower, and by far his most psychotic. "Are you certain, Bella?" he asked. "It appears as though the girl has quite a blockade of brave wizards guarding her," he said, mocking the sight of Snape, Sirius, and Ron standing in front of Hermione. "Very well. I offer my hand to any who will take it, save for a few. Who seeks my mercy?"

"Draco!" Lucius Malfoy hissed, spotting a head of white-blond hair standing beside Greg Goyle among a scattering of shivering Slytherins that had broken out of the dungeons after being locked inside thanks to an unfortunate outburst from Pansy.

Hermione turned to look at Draco, her breath catching in her chest when he turned and made eye contact with her. She shook her head, silently begging him not to move. "Don't . . ." she whispered words he couldn't hear, echoing his own plea that he'd given her hours earlier outside the Room of Requirement.

"Draco, don't be stupid!" Lucius snarled at his son.

Hermione glowered at the man and his wife, the woman who might have married Regulus once upon a lifetime ago, as they beckoned their only child to join them on their side; the  _wrong_ side.

* * *

"Draco," Narcissa said, finally reaching out for her son.

He looked up at the woman pleading for him to come to her. He hesitated still, his eyes turning to look once more at Granger who was shaking between Sirius Black and Snape, his own godfather who was clearly on the opposing side of the war.  _When had that happened?_   _And why the hell didn't he get me out of this?_  Draco wondered, looking down at the Dark Mark upon his forearm.

Broken under the words of his mother, Draco moved forward with lead feet as he crossed the barrier between sides, stopping when the Dark Lord reached out for him, flinching in response. "Well done, Draco."

Draco nodded once and hurried to his mother, falling into her arms and holding onto her tight, wondering how they were going to get away from all of this. How was he going to save the people he loved? He could feel his father's hand on his shoulder and Draco bitterly shook it off before turning to face the crowd opposite the Death Eaters, his eyes catching Granger's immediately. Draco didn't move, not even when his mother slipped a wand into his hand. He didn't need to look, he knew what it was.  _His_ wand that she'd clearly taken from Potter's body when the boy had finally fallen at the hands of the Dark Lord.

"Now don't be shy," the Dark Lord was saying. "Who's next?"

Draco's eyes widened when Longbottom stepped forward.  _Go back, you moron!_  he wanted to snap at the idiot who looked like he could barely stand, let alone fight. And if the boy thought he was going to take the Dark Mark, he would be sorely mistaken that he could survive the ordeal in the shape he was currently in. Draco had barely made it through the process himself.

The Dark Lord laughed, a high pitched sound that echoed in the grounds. "Well, I must say I had hoped for better," he said and the Death Eaters around him, save for Draco and his parents, shared in the laughter. "Who might you be, young man?"

"Neville Longbottom."

"Welcome, welcome, Neville Longbottom. I'm sure we can find a place for you."

Bellatrix giggled. " _Someone_  has to do the washing."

The Death Eaters roared with laughter.

"Now, now, Bellatrix. Let's not underestimate our young friend. By stepping forward, he lives to see another day and—"

"I'd like to say something," Longbottom interrupted the Dark Lord. "It doesn't matter that Harry's dead. This war wasn't about Harry. It was about something much more. He's not the first to die and likely won't be the last.  _You'll_ die," he said, pointing at the Dark Lord with a shaking hand, the other holding nothing but a tattered old hat. "It's not over," he said, reaching into the hat and withdrawing a massive sword.

Draco's eyes widened at the same time as the Dark Lord raised his wand, something similar to hope building in his chest. The Dark Lord aimed a curse at Longbottom, who dove out of the way, carrying the blade in his hands high as it came down upon the head of the giant snake.

"No!" the Dark Lord screamed.

Many things happened at once.

Longbottom threw his hands over his head as the Dark Lord aimed his wand at the boy. In the corner of his eyes, Draco watched as Harry Potter's lifeless body sprung up out of Hagrid's arms and he rushed toward Longbottom. Draco looked up to see Bellatrix rushing forward; Granger on the opposite side, moving quickly, unaware of the impending danger coming right for her.

Draco broke free of his mother's hold and ran for it. "Potter!" he shouted, and when the black-haired wizard turned, Draco threw the hawthorn wand to him, watching as he caught it and threw a shield up around Longbottom, deflecting the Dark Lord's curse.

"Draco!" Narcissa screamed after her son and ran, Lucius on her heels as they chased after the young blond toward the castle where battle had once again broken out.

"Granger!"

He looked up to see Bellatrix descend upon the girl, flinging curse after curse at her as easily as breathing. Granger, for all her strength, was fighting like mad just to keep up. Draco raised his wand—the wand he'd taken from Vincent in the Room of Requirement—and aimed as best he could while running and shouting, " _Avada Kedavra_!"

He missed.

He missed and his Aunt Bella's glare turned and fixated on him.

"Come to save the Mudblood again?" she said and cackled at him. "I  _knew_ you were lying when you said you couldn't tell who they were! Go on then, stand where you belong, Draco! Next to filth!" She gestured with her wand, her dark grey eyes manic as she followed him while he moved next to the witch.

Narcissa reached her sister and cried out, "Bella!"

"No!" Bellatrix snarled. "He's chosen his side!  _Expelliarmus_!" she cried loudly and both Draco and Hermione's wands shot into her hand. The crazed witch giggled insanely as though she hadn't expected that to work.

"Shite," Draco whispered.

Bellatrix aimed her wand at the pair and, with a gleam in her eye, cried, " _Crucio!_ "

In a move that no one suspected and everyone was shocked to see, Hermione and Draco turned and clung to one another as the curse hit, each trying in vain to save the other. Draco, physically stronger, screamed as he turned his body to take the curse in the back. Instantly his muscles constricted, tightening around the witch in his arms and they both fell to the ground.

Pain burned through his body worse than the Fiendfyre had felt. He'd been under the Cruciatus Curse before, even at his aunt's hands; clearly, Bellatrix had been holding back at the time. It was damn near close to the pain he'd felt when he'd taken the Dark Mark, only everywhere instead of just a central spot on his arm that burned outward. Hot needles stabbed through every pore, along each nerve in his body, and he tried to focus on anything to keep him from blacking out. Granger's voice was it as she cried out for him, "Draco! Draco, hang on!"

Someone shouted, " _Stupefy!_ " and the  _Crucio_ ended. However, the Stunning Spell had apparently missed its target. Thankfully, though, Bella had turned her attention on whoever it was that had rescued them.

"Narcissa," Snape's voice was low and angry, "would you care to step away from your sister so you're not accidentally cursed? Since she's just tortured your son, I'd like to think you're smart enough to know what side of this battle you truly belong?"

Narcissa was quick to move, though when she stepped toward Draco and Hermione, Bellatrix shot a hex at her, burning her hand. The blonde looked up into the eyes of her crazed sister who was grinning while tutting her. "Naughty, Cissa." Bellatrix smirked. "If you'd like to take the little blood-traitor, by all means," she said, standing back to allow Narcissa and Lucius to reach for Draco should they were so inclined. "But you will leave the Mudblood."

"Do not use that word," Snape said with a velvety growl.

Bellatrix cackled. "Still strung up about Muggle-borns?" she asked. "You were  _never_ one of us."

Snape sneered at her. "Unfortunately, I was," he admitted. "But that girl is not only  _not_ a Muggle-born, she's my goddaughter and you will  _not_  touch her."

All eyes widened, Hermione's included.

"What?" Bella grimaced. "Who on earth, besides my idiot sister, would be stupid enough to make  _you_ the godfather of a child?" She laughed.

Snape smirked. "Regulus Black."

Bella's eyes widened and she turned to glare down at Hermione, understanding clicking into place inside of her Dementor-addled mind. "No!" she screamed and raised her wand again but whatever curse was meant for Hermione, died on her lips as Snape shouted, " _Sectumsempra!_ " and opened Bellatrix's chest.

"Malfoy, are you all right?" Hermione whispered, looking up at the boy who was twitching every so often, still hovering above her; a human shield.

His breath was heavy and his eyes wide as he stared down at her. "Black?" he whispered the name, shocked by the declaration that had come from his—no,  _their?_ —godfather. Neither said another word as Draco was pulled from her by his father, leaving Hermione laying on the ground looking up at them all with grey eyes.

"Is it true?" Narcissa said through a broken voice as she looked down at Hermione, tears in her own eyes. She reached a tender hand out only to be cut off by Snape who moved to stand protectively between the Malfoys and the little witch.

"Severus?" Lucius stared at the man, his gaze narrowed.

At the sight of Bella's body bleeding out on the ground, Rodolphus Lestrange screamed in grief and anger and violently rose his wand in Snape's direction. " _Avada Ked—_ "

" _Stupefy!_ " shouted another voice. "Ha!" Sirius said, grin on his face as he joined his family—and Snape—looking at the Potions Master with a smug expression. " _You_  owe me a life debt!"

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Snape yelled, aiming his wand over Sirius's left shoulder.

The Animagus turned and stared as the frozen body of Rabastan Lestrange, wand still in hand and aimed at Sirius, fell to the ground, dead. "Shit," Sirius said in disappointment over the fact that Snape had saved  _his_ life as well.

"If we're done here," Snape said and turned to reach for Hermione's hand to pull her to her feet.

"Where's Harry?" she immediately asked.

"It's not possible," Lucius was muttering under his breath, his eyes fixed on the little witch. He took a step forward only to find Sirius's wand jammed under his jaw, all laughter gone from the man's face.

"Come near my niece, Malfoy," Sirius threatened, "and I'll happily make my cousin a widow."

Lucius slowly raised his hands, sneering at Sirius as the black-haired wizards took the little witch by the shoulders and led her away from the Slytherin family. "It's not possible," he said again, ignoring the shocked looks on both his wife and son's faces.

* * *

The trio marched into the Great Hall where more fighting was taking place, each man on either side of Hermione as they moved. She turned, looking back at the Malfoys only once, surprised over their shock and desperate to end this war so she could return to Grimmauld Place and feast upon the diaries of her father to find out perhaps exactly why Draco's parents were so gobsmacked over the sight of her. It couldn't just be the familial relation, could it?

"Good on ya, Moony!" Sirius shouted and Hermione turned to watch as her former Defence Professor snapped the neck of Fenrir Greyback. A feeling of relief and pride moved through her at the sight considering the rotten werewolf had pawed her during her very brief stay at Malfoy Manor, groping her body and licking his lips. The sight of his dead body at the feet of a man he'd long ago infected brought her actual joy. At the realisation of her thoughts, she inwardly blamed the Black blood running through her veins for feeling delight over a man's death, even if it was  _that_ particular man.

"Hermione!" Ron yelled and pulled the witch into a hug. The pair of friends sighed in relief over the safety of one another. "Did I see  _Malfoy_ take a curse for you?" he asked, dumbfounded. "And Snape killed Bellatrix?"

"Where's Harry?" Sirius and Hermione asked simultaneously.

Ron shook his head.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" Harry's voice echoed in the Great Hall and everyone turned to see the Boy Who Lived face off against Voldemort. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does . . .  _I_ am the true master of the Elder Wand."

Hermione and Ron clutched at one another at the sight of their best friend, and she watched from the corners of her eyes as Sirius and Remus both moved forward at the same time toward the duelling pair as though to offer Harry backup.

The Malfoys moved into the Great Hall, Draco faster than his parents, muscles still involuntarily twitching every few minutes as he stood just behind Hermione and Snape, staring with anxious hope at the sight of Harry Potter fighting the Dark Lord, Draco's own hawthorn wand in the boy's hand.

Voldemort snarled and Potter raised the wand defiantly and each cried out spells simultaneously.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Draco and Hermione both closed their eyes and prayed.

 _Please_ ,  _no more war._


	8. Bellum

**July 1977**

Fifth year had been an absolute nightmare at one end, and a dream on the other.

Miraculously, Kreacher had gotten Sirius to St Mungo's in time for the Healers to do their job, saving his life. The Potters had been called, as Regulus insisted. Soon, his brother was resting nicely in a large manor somewhere outside of Yorkshire, likely playing Quidditch with his friends over the holidays and being adored by the Potter family, despite his flaws, to compensate for his shitty childhood.

Regulus wanted to feel bitter and jealous, but he knew Sirius deserved someone to actually take care of him properly.

Meanwhile, Regulus was still existing in the aftermath of said shitty childhood.

When it was discovered that Sirius had escaped his well-planned "accidental" death, Kreacher had been punished severely by Walburga for allowing him to escape. Not once did the elf give up the secret that he had actually been the one to take Sirius away from Grimmauld Place, and was under the direct orders of Regulus himself.

Not once.

"You did very well, Kreacher," Regulus whispered as he helped nursed Kreacher's wounds late that night when his parents had gone to bed. "Your loyalty to me will be rewarded. I promise you . . . I will never put you in this kind of danger again."

He felt a bond wrap itself around his magical core, tying Kreacher's life force to his at the promise.

As the elf grasped his hand, smooth fingers interlocked with Kreacher's wrinkled and scarred ones; the elf looked up at him and the faint whisper of "Yes, Master" brushed between them.

Sirius was blasted off the tapestry, and the family held a private ceremony where Regulus was  _officially_ presented the family ring in front of his parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins.

Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella made a big show about how Regulus would have made a fine husband for Narcissa, though they didn't say such things within Lucius's hearing. Regulus knew it was all lies and peacocking anyway.

Uncle Alphard offered sage wisdom when it came to governing the family and slipped Regulus a book on how to magically work the family tapestry should he choose to reinstate Sirius and Andromeda when he came of age.

Narcissa sweetly kissed his cheeks and congratulated him, making no outward sign that his new title as heir of the family had anything to do with rumours that Sirius had nearly died in St Mungo's after mysteriously ending up in the lobby, covered in blood.

Regulus smiled politely at her, kissed her knuckles and shook Lucius's hand, trying not to show any hint of emotion when the Malfoy heir took him aside and mentioned that he had a  _friend_ who was very interested in making the acquaintance of the one with whom the future of the Black family rested.

When Bellatrix showed up, the Lestrange brothers in tow, Cygnus and Druella could be heard arguing with her in the entrance hallway.

"—can't just walk in with  _that_ on display! Show some subtlety!"

"Bella, darling, just because we're all family doesn't mean that everyone completely understands—"

"I am not ashamed to show my loyalties!" Bellatrix screeched before walking into the drawing room where the rest of the family was gathered. She wore a short-sleeved black dress which was perfectly appropriate, especially since it didn't appear her husband had any qualms with her wardrobe. Her left forearm, however, was on prominent display; her pale, otherwise flawless flesh was covered by a swirling black Mark of a skull and snake.

"Lucius," Bella said, greeting Malfoy first, which was a social faux pas since she should have met first the Lord and Lady of the house, followed by her actual Head of House (unless they were the same). Regulus knew that  _he_ would then follow the Head of House, being the proper heir, and the line would go on down the hierarchy.

He swallowed back his distaste at her lack of social adherences, but immediately noted that no one else present—save perhaps, Uncle Alphard—blinked twice at her actions. He felt anxiety bubble up in the pit of his stomach at the implications. This was no longer a  _family_. This was a meeting of followers and, somehow, Lucius and Bellatrix were at the top of the newly established chain of command.

Where the hell did that leave  _him_?

Dark grey eyes turned his way, and Regulus lifted his chin as Bellatrix approached him. "Baby cousin," she greeted with a devious smile. "All grown up, are we?"

Regulus narrowed his eyes just a touch. "And hardly a  _baby_ ," he said, taking her hand and kissing it quickly. "Cousin, you're looking well."

She took his hand and clung to it, digging her nails into his forearm as though she were sending a message. "You're looking like a proper heir to our Ancient and Noble House. Not like the filthy blood-traitor that came before you."

"We do not speak of him, Bella," Walburga politely reprimanded her.

"And why  _should_ you?" Bella said with a grin. "In fact—" She turned her attention once more to Regulus. "—as a gift for my precious cousin and heir to our House, I will have that wretched creature strung up in the most gruesome way possible. Or would you like to see him screaming? I've become quite adept at the Cruciatus Curse," she said proudly. "I'm one of our Lord's favourites. He says I have great potential."

"As much potential as you have as a favourite," Cygnus said with a slightly irritable sigh, "your place is to stand as a wife to Rodolphus and to give the man an heir."

Bellatrix smirked. "I'll provide an heir, all right," she said confidently.

Regulus noted the slight cringe on Rodolphus's face. He couldn't help but think that when Bella spoke of heirs, she wasn't thinking of her  _husband_.

Clearing his throat to change the subject, Regulus said, "As much as I appreciate the gesture, cousin, now isn't the time to draw unwanted attention, is it? Sirius may be a blood-traitor, but perhaps you should put your efforts into dealing with Muggles and Mudbloods."

It had, of course, been his hope to redirect his family's wrath toward those he cared little for. He knew of only  _one_ Muggle-born, and she'd broken his best friend's heart, so what did she matter to him? As for Muggles, he'd never met one before in his life. But if he were to soften his family's position in regards to blood-traitors, there might be hope that his understanding with Marlene would be properly acknowledged when it came time to publicly announce their relationship. In the long run, it might help bring Andromeda and Sirius back into the House as well.

"These," Bellatrix said with a grin and gestured as if his words were floating in the air, "are the words of a  _true_ heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black. You should try to be a better influence on your little half-blood friend."

"You speak of Severus?"

Bella laughed. "He has a bit of an . . .  _obsession_ we hear."

"Evans. A pesky little Mudblood," he spoke the rehearsed words as naturally as possible. "She's hardly a problem though. An annoying little chit with no real power or persuasion. Quite beautiful, or so I've been told.  _I've_ hardly looked in her direction. I say let him keep his little pet. A poorly-bred owl is still useful as a familiar when it needs to be."

Bellatrix giggled like a young schoolgirl tittering over her first crush.

Regulus inwardly grimaced as the sound washed over him.

Lucius was smiling. The sight was disconcerting. "Regulus, you and Severus are invited to my home next summer. I hope you'll accept the invitation."

He knew what this was and knew what his answer was  _supposed_ to be. There was no choice. "I'd be delighted, Lucius, thank you. I assume Severus has already accepted?"

Lucius nodded. "He would be foolish not to.  _Anyone_ would be foolish not to. It doesn't take a Legilimens to know that."

A coldness fell across his skin, and he smiled politely to disguise his fear.

_So, the Dark Lord is apparently a Legilimens._

That would make things exponentially more difficult.

* * *

**September 1977**

"Why do I need to check out books on Occlumency?" Marlene asked. "The library isn't closed to you. Reg, is that a bruise?" She reached up to touch his cheek. "What the hell happened?"

He brushed her hand away from his face. "I'm fine," he assured her. "Just had a run in with Sirius on the way to Potions this morning."

She frowned. "Reg . . . maybe you should tell him—"

"I can't," he said, cutting her off. "I know what I have to do in order to keep everyone I care about safe. For fuck's sake, they're already looking for reasons to get rid of Severus and—other than his obsession with Evans—he's shown nothing but loyalty and ambition to serve. I have to take care of him, vouch for him. I have to know their plans so I can keep Sirius away from it all . . . and you."

Marlene touched the string of pearls around her neck affectionately, and Regulus felt his chest puff out, a swell of pride building within him at the sight. "If they . . . If  _anyone_ knew the truth, I'd become a target. They would use me against Sirius, and him against me. Gods forbid anyone find out about you."

"I'm your dirty blood-traitor secret?" she said, scowling.

He cupped her cheek affectionately. "You are my  _treasure,_ and I forbid anyone take you from me," he said, his eyes hard and cold at the thought. "I would slaughter anyone who even tried."

She looked away from him. "Don't talk like that. You're supposed to be good, remember? I'm supposed to remind you."

Regulus sighed. "I . . . I can't lie to you. I would hurt anyone who even thought about touching you, but the people who would think about such a thing would deserve to suffer. I can promise you that."

"Who else is going to suffer?" she asked nervously.

His posture stiffened. "A lot of people."

Her bottom lip quivered. "At  _your_ hand?"

He held his breath and swallowed, trying to force down the bile that was rising in his throat. "Yes," he blurted out, quickly adding, "I don't  _want_ to. Merlin knows I don't want any of it, but they have to think that I'm with them. I can't give them any reason to doubt. It's why I'll take a Stinging Hex from Sirius on the way to class and let him think that I'm a prick. It's why I'll publicly ignore you and call you a blood-traitor even though you're the very breath that gives me life."

"It's why you'll hurt people," Marlene whispered.

Regulus nodded. "Am I damned for it?"

She shook her head. "It really is going to be a war, isn't it?"

"Am I damned for it? For sacrificing others for—"

"The greater good?"

Regulus scoffed, angry. "Fuck the greater good. I'm selfishly doing this for my own reasons. And those reasons need to be kept secret from the Dark Lord, who is a  _Legilimens_. Which means I need you to check out books on Occlumency, study it yourself to keep Dumbledore out of your head if he ever gets suspicious. Severus and I need to start learning immediately, though. We've only got until next summer."

Her face paled. "What happens next summer?"

Instead of answering her like she wanted, Regulus leant forward and kissed her, pulling her into the dark alcove and throwing up a quick Notice-Me-Not Charm to distract anyone from spotting them as he did his best to distract his witch from thinking about the growing war, his place in it, and the horror he would have to face next summer . . .

When he would take the Mark.

* * *

**February 1978**

Legilimency, it turned out, came naturally to both of the young Slytherins. However, the consequences of such a natural talent were growing more and more irritating.

"You're never going to pass your Transfiguration exam if you just sit and stare at Evans during class," Regulus said to the annoyance of Severus, who was throwing back a Pain Relief Potion after their most recent session in learning Occlumency. "And don't deny it; I saw the memory."

Severus glared at him. "Then when you stumble upon a memory of her, look elsewhere. Do you think I enjoy watching your memories of getting under McKinnon's jumper?"

Regulus smirked.

_The first day back at Hogwarts after the Christmas hols had Regulus pinning Marlene against a wall in an empty classroom at the end of a long corridor that had been closed off due to Peeves flooding the nearest bathroom. The water had been cleaned up, but the rooms had been closed to classes until all the damage was repaired._

_As his hand snaked under Marlene's jumper, his thumb brushing against the underside of a breast, Regulus made a mental note to do something nice for the suddenly wonderful Poltergeist._

_As delicious as her lips were and as much as he delighted in kissing her—especially when he discovered the delectable noise she made anytime he lightly bit her lower lip—he was finding himself desperate to touch and taste the rest of her. Anytime he voiced his thoughts on such things, she would laugh and tell him that he was more like his brother than he thought._

_Regulus would be annoyed at the suggestion that he was as easily distracted by girls as Sirius, but then Marlene would question him with a third year Arithmancy equation while brushing her knee against the inside of his thigh, and he would start babbling on about Ancient Rune translations in an effort to show that he was paying attention. She would giggle, and he'd growl and swallow her sounds._

_When she wantonly moaned as he palmed her breast, he couldn't help but wonder if sexual prowess was something that was gifted to the men of House Black, considering his inexperience seemed to offer him few moments of inadequacy._

_His ego quickly deflated when he spent five minutes trying—angrily—to unhook her bra._

_The first time he touched her bare skin with his hands, he groaned at the softness of her. The first time he pulled a nipple between his lips, she moaned loudly, and the sound alone had him coming. He did his best to hide his expression of elated pleasure followed by complete mortification by burying his face between her breasts—which was his new favourite place in the world—and muttering a very quiet_ Scourgify  _while simultaneously continuing his oral ministrations as her fingers dug through his hair._

Severus had made a disgusted face when he stumbled upon the memory. "Could you be any more smug about this?" he snapped. "Are you even  _trying_ to put you your Occlumency Shields, or is this some sick game you're playing to shove your sex life with McKinnon in my face?"

Regulus sneered. "Unlike my brother, I'm quite content to keep my personal affairs private, thank you."

They both shook their heads in disgust.

"I can't believe he didn't get expelled," Regulus said thoughtfully.

"Don't look impressed with your brother. It doesn't take a genius to be able to convince a Hufflepuff to shag in a broom cupboard."

Regulus smirked. "No, but to get caught by the headmaster and only end up with two weeks of detention? You have to admit, that's fairly impressive."

Severus rolled his eyes. "If you think it's impressive to be forced to walk back to your common room without your trousers, then yes, very impressive," he said sarcastically, "overwhelmingly awe-inspiring."

They shared a laugh at his expense, though Sirius didn't seem perturbed by the now  _legendary_ story going around the school over how he'd left behind a pair of trousers in a broom cupboard and walked away with black and yellow knickers to add to a disgustingly large collection.

Done laughing, Regulus and Severus went back to their private Occlumency lessons and hit a bout of success when they realised they needed to search for shame-filled memories. Regulus caught only five seconds worth of Severus's memory of being hung upside down in his underpants by Sirius and Potter before Occlumency shields went up so strong they almost felt permanent. Severus saw even less of Regulus's memory of finding Sirius almost dead in his room.

"Do you think it will be enough?" Regulus asked.

"To get in without suspicion of where our loyalties rest? Yes. Besides, we're just looking to get through the meeting before we're Marked. And it's not as though we're looking to take down his operation from the inside," he reasoned.

Regulus nodded. "No. Let the man conquer the world for all I care, so long as me and mine are left alone."

* * *

**July 1978**

Severus and Regulus waited outside the gates of Malfoy Manor until a Death Eater approached, letting them inside without a word. They walked through the grounds until they reached the centuries-old mansion to be greeted by a smiling Lucius, who promptly introduced them both to his father, Abraxas, a man with short white-blond hair unlike Lucius's which remained long and tied back with a black piece of leather. Abraxas was, nonetheless, as intimidating as his son and much less charming.

But he was  _nothing_ compared to the man they met next.

Lucius walked them both into the large drawing room where Regulus witnessed the usually collected Narcissa, hands trembling ever so slightly as she poured tea for a tall black-haired man sitting at the head of the table in Acromantula silk robes. He looked as though  _he_ were Lord of the manor; Regulus assumed, he  _technically_ was.

"My Lord, may I present Regulus Black," Lucius said, "and of course, you've already met Severus Snape."

Regulus gave a polite nod of the head, and Severus did likewise.

The Dark Lord turned and appraised both boys with interest. He looked like any other wizard but, though they could not see it with their own eyes, the aura around him was blacker than Regulus's name, and the air in the room was colder merely because this man sat within it.

"Ah, yes," he finally spoke, his attention falling first to Severus, "the boy whose heart bleeds for Muggle-borns."

Severus swallowed what little pride he actually possessed, clearly recognising the provocation and rising to meet it the only way he knew how without appearing weak. "I am honoured to be remembered, my Lord."

The Dark Lord chuckled quietly at Severus's words, and Regulus briefly hoped that neither of them blacked out at the sound. Their nerves were shot, and they'd each needed to drink a Calming Draught before arriving at the manor, just enough to ease the nerves but not so much as to cloud the mind and accidentally lower their Occlumency shields, which were damn near perfect.

"At least he has a sense of humour. Tell me young Master Snape, how is your little Mudblood?"

"Still won't speak to me, my Lord," Severus said casually as though speaking to an old acquaintance.

Regulus snorted, not one to let Severus take all the attention, mostly because if pressed, he was more than likely to bungle everything up for the both of them. Better to divide the Dark Lord's attention equally. "He's all the better for it," Regulus said. "The girl had a tendency to prattle."

The Dark Lord smirked, turning his focus on Regulus. "And the young Black heir. I've been wanting to meet you for quite some time. Tell me, what are your thoughts on your friend's little pet?"

Regulus shrugged, the brief movement of his shoulders lightly jostling the sparse contents of his stomach, which were already threatening to evacuate due to nerves. "I don't know how half-bloods are brought up, my Lord," he said, "but purebloods are encouraged to practice their skills on  _unsuitable_ witches before finding a proper wife. Perhaps if  _all_ the Muggle-borns served such a purpose they would not constantly seek to rise to positions too high for their birth."

The Dark Lord nodded thoughtfully as he brought the small teacup to his mouth.

Regulus cast a glance at Narcissa, who watched the man closely, as though any moment he could easily declare that she'd tried to poison him and have her killed for it. When he set the cup back down empty, her shoulders sagged with obvious relief.

"Do you not think all Mudbloods should be eradicated?" the Dark Lord asked. "I should tell you, young Regulus,  _that_ opinion will not be popular amongst my . . . friends."

Regulus shook his head. "Just because a house-elf is of lesser magic than a wizard, does not mean it's not  _useful_ ," he said, practically quoting his mother. "I have the  _ability_ to scrub the floors should the need arise, but why would I ever do such a thing when I've a perfectly good servant on hand?"

"I see," the Dark Lord said, his expression one of contemplation. "You think Mudbloods have a place in our world. Servitude."

"Killing them all would create a mess, would it not?" Regulus said, slyly smirking.

"And the blood-traitors? Like your brother?"

Regulus was prepared for Sirius to be brought up. It was likely that the moment his brother had been sorted into Gryffindor, Bellatrix would have been jabbering on and on about her blood-traitor cousin and could she please sacrifice him in the name of her Dark Lord for a pretty pat on the head?

"It would be a great tragedy against magic itself to spill such pure blood, my Lord. Blood-traitors are lost children in need of a strong hand to bring them back into the fold. If every wayward hippogriff was slaughtered when roaming, soon the whole herd will perish."

"Ah." The Dark Lord grinned, and Regulus could sense Severus's hands clenching at the sudden change of expression. "So, it is the  _caretaker_ that is to blame? In the case of your brother, would that not be your own parents?"

"So you say, my Lord," Regulus said immediately. "Blame the caretaker, or perhaps, the thief who comes in the night and opens the gate," he suggested, his implication, in this case, being Dumbledore.

The Dark Lord's grin widened, and he let out a loud laugh that startled both Severus and Regulus and even a few of his Marked Death Eaters that stood nearby, Lucius included. Narcissa nearly dropped the teacup in her hand at the sound.

"This is why I need fresh blood! Do you see Abraxas?" the Dark Lord said, gesturing to Regulus. "There is little purpose in mindless slaughter when we have  _conquerors_ in our midst. Tell me, Regulus. How would you like to sit on a throne?"

Regulus had never been more pleased that Severus excelled at brewing Calming Draught.  _A throne? A fucking throne? Was this a joke or a test?_  Regulus didn't even want the bloody family  _ring_!

He tilted his head curiously and smiled in a way to hide his growing nausea. "I've always been a bit on the small side, my Lord. A throne might be too big for my frame. I'd be happy enough now to ride a broom and play Quidditch. Should you like to  _give_ a throne to me, I'd be more than happy for  _you_ to keep it warm for me."

Severus finally broke his gaze away from the Dark Lord and turned his incredulous stare upon Regulus, a silent  _Are you out of your fucking mind?_  written across his face.

The Dark Lord merely smirked and reached for his empty teacup. Narcissa jumped to quickly refill it much to Lucius's obvious relief. "I've always liked the Black family. So very clever. Lucius, bring in our guests. These are neither wayward hippogriffs nor useful house-elves," he said to Regulus as Lucius disappeared through a door, returning moments later with two young girls, bound with rope and gagged.

The Dark Lord stood and walked across the room to see them up close, and Severus and Regulus followed behind him. "Muggles, both of them," he said with a tone of severe disdain. "Tell me, Regulus, in your opinion, where do  _Muggles_ stand in our world?"

Regulus looked into the eyes of the Dark Lord and saw the truth there. Blood-traitors could be re-educated, Mudbloods could serve a purpose, but Regulus could see that Muggles were nothing but a disease in the Dark Lord's eyes and no amount of sweet talking would change his opinion of that.

 _This_ was the test. The test that, if failed, would kill he and Severus both.

"They are an infestation, my Lord," Regulus said, mimicking the look of disgust.

"Very good, my boy. An infestation, did you hear?" The man leant down and stared at the crying Muggles, who had been forced to kneel at his feet. "Please, do mind the carpet when you exterminate them for me."

Regulus stiffened, and his breathing increased. Severus apparently took notice of it and tried to intervene. "My Lord, I would request the honour of disposing of them both as my friend is still underage and has the Trace on his wand."

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers, and a random Death Eater from the corner approached the boys, extending a black wand out to Regulus. "Then use a  _different_ wand."

Regulus took the wand, doing his best not to let his hand shake. "You are most gracious my Lord," he said and then looked down at the girls kneeling before them.

He and Severus had talked about this before when discussing the different scenarios that could happen. Severus mentioned that he'd heard of a Numbing Spell to help ease the burden of a Cruciatus Curse, should they be forced to torture someone. They both agreed to appear offended should they be asked to sully themselves by raping anyone, but murder . . . there was no way around that. Regulus tried to reason that, if left alive, the girls at his feet would be given to Death Eaters more inclined to enjoy themselves beforehand. Still, he was terrified.

 _Be brave like Sirius,_ he thought as he raised his wand. " _Avada Kedavra_!"

* * *

The pain from the tear in his soul rivalled that of the physical anguish that came with taking the Mark.

The tip of the Dark Lord's wand touched his arm and set a curse upon his flesh that felt like a branding iron. Instead of a burn that eventually went numb from the pain, the iron stayed hot and his skin remained innocent as though fighting back of its own accord even though Regulus pleaded with it to just accept the Mark and end the pain.

"It's okay if you cry," Lucius whispered when he was ordered to bring Regulus and Severus a glass of water to help them through the worst of it when they'd screamed their throats raw from the searing pain. "We all cried. It's normal."

Regulus cried.

He screamed and sobbed and wept.

When it felt like there was a mild reprieve two hours in, he vomited in a large bucket that Narcissa had conjured for him and, when the curse was over and his forearm bore the brand, he looked up at the Dark Lord through sweat-soaked black hair and thanked him for the privilege of suffering at his feet.

Severus recovered first and helped Regulus to stand where they were both given a black robe and a silver mask. They bowed low before their Lord and were told to enjoy the following year at Hogwarts but to expect their holidays to be quite occupied.

They graciously bid farewell before Severus Side-Along-Apparated them to Diagon Alley where they purchased private rooms for the night at the Leaky and cried themselves to sleep.


	9. Poena

**June 1998**

The room was dark, damp, and dreary.

It seemed that the original theme still prevailed after several thousand years, the walls of dark stone, appearing damp as the torch lights flickered off their smooth surfaces. High benches on one side sat the members of the Wizengamot, all dressed in plum-coloured robes, a silver "W" embroidered on the front signifying their honourable positions. Around twenty or so members sat in the back rows, scattered and cluttered together in what looked like old school cliques turned long-term alliances. Twenty-eight seats sat in the front—the most important members of the Wizengamot: the Heads of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Twenty-eight magical pureblood families dating back long before the International Statute of Secrecy. The Heads of those Houses had been given prominent seats on the Wizengamot, which offered them positions in the governing of Wizarding Britain as well as additional power and influence over their own House. Plenty seats were empty as the Wizengamot gathered. The seat for House Shacklebolt was empty, as their Head of House took his place as Minister for Magic. Other unoccupied chairs were just so because there remained no one left to take it, such as the Houses of Crouch and Gaunt. Remaining seats were empty because their Heads of House were unworthy to occupy them. The seats of Yaxley, Avery, Carrow, Lestrange, Travers, Nott, Rosier, and Rowle all remained unoccupied because the Death Eaters that held positions as Heads of House would soon be sent to Azkaban if the Wizengamot had anything to say about it.

One seat sat empty in the very centre; Draco was unable to look away from it, his gaze tracing slowly over each individual letter engraved upon the fine wooden finish.

 _Malfoy_.

The large gathered crowd behind him and his family were busy with whispers and murmurs, none of which gave him hope.

His mother gently squeezed his hand for support and, though his face gave away not an ounce of emotion toward her, the gentle squeeze he gave back was his own silent way of giving her the love and comfort she needed.

His father, on the other hand, sat beside his mother, a look of smug anger painted on his features. Draco scowled at him. Even if Lucius Malfoy thought he was going to get away with everything he had done during the war—or buy his way into this Wizengamot hearing—it was foolish to appear like he had already handed over the Galleons for his freedom. Even Draco knew better than to leave himself so open to interpretation.

The fact that they were being tried as separate individuals but at the same time was a publicity stunt. A photograph of  _all three_  Malfoys being dragged off to Azkaban would look better on the front page of the  _Daily Prophet_ , even if it meant that protocols and regulations were being overlooked and overturned all for the aggrandisement of the new "lighter" governing regime.

He returned his attention to the seats of the Wizengamot, making note of each absence and recounting in his head the last time he had seen or heard of each missing member. A seat on the end of the bench looked different from the others. While the twenty-eight that preceded it were well worn and aged, this one appeared new. Draco's eyes focused closely on the engraved letters and upon reading them clearly, he rolled his eyes with a dramatic flare, and a scoff escaped his throat.

_Potter._

Of  _course_ they would give Potter a bloody seat on the Wizengamot.

Though the family had not been considered a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Potters were a long line of purebloods dating back further than Draco knew, despite no  _longer_ being pure. He could only imagine the sight of the seat being presented to The Boy Who Just Never Knew When to Die.

While Draco and his family shared a holding cell waiting for trial, he imagined Harry Potter was being gifted with gold, girls, and the fucking Order of Merlin. Of  _course_ they'd give him an ancestral seat on the Wizengamot; he was, after all, the only Potter alive and, therefore, Head of his House.

Draco swallowed the bitter pill and returned his angry stare to the Malfoy empty seat, furious at his father for shaming it and leaving it empty in front of them.

It was only the knowledge that Lucius had essentially been sacrificed to the Dark Lord by  _his_ father the same way Draco had that kept him from publicly estranging himself from the man who raised him. Then again, it was the same man who raised him to loathe Muggle-borns. The same man who praised him anytime he wrote home about a nasty thing he had called Granger or the one year when he had accidentally given her teeth that fell down past her chin. He had been sent back a basket of sweets for his efforts in "letting Mudbloods know their place."

That all changed fourth year, though he had not had the courage to write home to his father about that.

" _Just thought I'd extend a hand of friendship and let you know that a few of my Housemates have seen you in the library with Granger," Draco said, approaching Viktor Krum as though they were old friends. He spent years masking his emotions as he had been taught so, despite the fact that standing beside the best Seeker in the world made him as gleeful as an eleven-year-old purchasing their first wand, Draco kept a face of calm aloofness._

_Viktor Krum looked at him. "Malfoy, yes?"_

_Draco smirked. Of course the best Seeker in the world knew the Malfoy name. They were basically equals. "You've heard of me?"_

_Krum shrugged his massive shoulders. "You care for my visits with Hermoninny, why?"_

_Slightly taken back, first at the man's mispronunciation of the Mudblood's name—even if it was a ridiculous one, to begin with—and then over the actual wording. Visits? He was spending time with the swot on purpose? "You have a reputation and, as a friend, I'm offering you advice to keep it clean. Stay away from filth like her. She's a Mudblood."_

_The great big oaf was suddenly standing, and Draco had not realised how tall the older boy was until they were almost nose to nose though, with Krum having several more years to him, it was more nose to chest. Instinctively, he glanced to the side wondering where the hell Vince and Greg had wandered off to. He took note of Theo in the corner of the room, but there was no way Nott would put himself in harm's way to save Draco's arse._

" _Do not speak ill of Hermoninny," Krum said firmly in a tone that left no argument, though Draco would have loved to argue the point. "I see beautiful witch, smart witch, powerful witch. You see blood." Krum scoffed as though Draco were lower than the mud on his boots. "I prefer seeing witch."_

_Draco stared openly at the idiot, wondering briefly if Granger had slipped him a Love Potion._

_A week later, when she had shown up on the Bulgarian's arm at the Yule Ball, his mouth fell open._

" _Fuck me . . ." Blaise whispered at the sight of her._

_Draco sneered angrily. "We knew he'd been spending time with her. It's hardly a surprise that she'd be here with him."_

_Blaise laughed and clapped Draco on the shoulder. "I'm not shocked, I'm actually hoping that if I say, 'fuck me' loud enough she might let me get a leg over."_

" _Charming," Theo said, rolling his eyes._

_Draco had not thought much about the girl from that point on, other than the typical annoyance her very existence caused—though Krum's words had reminded him of years earlier when he had first met the Muggle-born and had not thought once about her blood status. She had been easily excitable for certain, but she had been intelligent and easy to talk to. Beautiful though? Draco scoffed at the thought._

_It was not until he was placed before the Dark Lord the summer before sixth year and told to practice the Cruciatus Curse on a Muggle that his Aunt Bellatrix had picked up earlier that week. The girl had long, curly brown hair and coffee-coloured eyes. Unlike Granger's, her face was covered in tiny freckles, and she was older by several years._

_But suddenly faced with a crying Muggle, who looked so much like his longtime rival and being ordered to torture her . . . Draco froze._

_He remembered every slur, every prank, every dirty look and foul thing he had ever done to Granger, and his stomach lurched at the same time that his wand hand shook. He knew, however, that he could not just stand there with the threat of the Dark Lord at his back, his mother in the corner of the room surrounded by Death Eaters that were more loyal to their Master than they were to Lucius, who was tucked away in Azkaban unable to protect his family._

" _Avada Kedavra!" Draco said, killing the Muggle in front of him instantly._

_He had been put under the Cruciatus Curse by Bellatrix for his insubordination, but his eagerness to murder Muggles had pleased the Dark Lord, and he was branded a Death Eater that night. He had blacked out in the middle of it only to wake up in his mother's arms as she silently sobbed while running her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, whispering apologies._

Draco He once thought that nothing in the world could hurt as much as taking the Mark, but the idea that his mother might be sent to Azkaban for crimes that had been forced upon her . . . Well, that hurt worse.

"Sorry, sorry," a redheaded man said as he entered the room late, taking a firm place in the chair marked "Weasley" next to the new "Potter" seat.

Draco rubbed his face with his hands trying to wash away the image of a future where Potter and Weasel sat next to one another on the Wizengamot. He did not want to live in a world where idiots made such important decisions.

"Disciplinary hearing on the sixth of June," Kingsley Shacklebolt said in a loud voice, "into offences committed under the order of Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort by Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy née' Black, and Draco Lucius Malfoy, all residents of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England."

Draco rolled his eyes at the crowd around him as they gasped and flinched at the name of the fallen Dark Lord. He was  _dead_. Officially dead and had been for over a month. How long were they supposed to be afraid of a name? Draco had feared the  _person_ , if one could call him that. He had seen him face-to-face, sat in the same room, lived in the same home, and ate at the same table. A table that would need to be salted and burned later, he reminded himself, should any of his family escape Azkaban.

"Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Gawain Robards, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Hyperion Greengrass, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Chief Warlock; Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

Kingsley took his seat, and then Hyperion Greengrass, Chief Warlock, stood, blue eyes falling first on Draco.

He tried to meet the man's stare but eventually broke, bitterly scolding himself for doing so. He had met the wizard only once in his life when he was ten and a marriage had been arranged between himself and the youngest Greengrass daughter. A marriage contract that was now, more than likely, voided due to Draco's potential future stint in Azkaban. They were all better for it. Astoria deserved more than what Draco was.

"Lucius Malfoy, you stand accused of plotting and escaping from Azkaban prison, of knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of your actions taking upon yourself the title of Death Eater, of bearing the Dark Mark upon your skin, and of following and supporting the Dark Wizard, Tom Riddle. You are further accused of the illegal kidnapping and imprisonment of Garrick Ollivander, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger in your own home."

Draco closed his eyes to prevent himself from making eye contact with anyone in the room as even more accusations were read aloud. The need to drown out the words, the reminders of what his father had done in the name of a madman, was overwhelming. He had nightmares about the whole war, but the mere mention of the things that took place inside his own home left his skin feeling cold and clammy.

"Narcissa Malfoy, you stand accused of following and supporting the Dark Wizard Tom Riddle. You are further accused of the imprisonment of Garrick Ollivander, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger in your own home."

Draco shook his head. He knew the truth. His mother had never  _willingly_ done anything, not how they were stating it. She had only followed his father, trusting him blindly in the hopes that Lucius Malfoy would put his family first. The only thing she was guilty of was being an obedient wife.

"Draco Malfoy," the Chief Warlock spoke, and Draco opened his eyes as he felt the blood drain from his face. "You stand accused of plotting the murder of Albus Dumbledore, of the use of the Imperius Curse upon Madam Rosmerta of Hogsmeade, of the involuntary cursing of Katie Bell and the involuntary poisoning of Ronald Weasley. You knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of your actions, took upon the title of Death Eater, bearing the Dark Mark upon your skin, following and supporting the Dark Wizard Tom Riddle. You are accused of crimes during raids of Death Eaters, including the use of the Cruciatus Curse. You stand accused of crimes committed at Hogwarts under the direction of Amycus Carrow. You are further accused of the imprisonment of Garrick Ollivander, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger in your own home."

Draco breathed heavily through his nose as his crimes were listed out before him. He mentally acknowledged them all, though he certainly would have worded it differently. He had, by no means, taken the Dark Mark upon his skin knowingly or deliberately; it was not as though he  _requested_ such a thing. He wanted to scream, wanted to tell them all the truth about everything, but looking around at the Wizengamot he wondered, who the hell would even believe him?

His concentration was broken as the door opened to the side of the room, and two Aurors escorted in four people he never thought he would see again.

"Witnesses for the defence, Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger," Sirius Black spoke as he walked in with Potter, Granger, and Weasley behind him. The man parted ways with the younger wizards and witch to take his seat amongst the rest of the Wizengamot.

Weasley separated from his friends and made his way to the crowded gallery seats, stopping once to glare at Draco in the process.

Granger and Potter stepped to the centre of the room to stand before the Wizengamot. Somehow, her hair was blacker than Potter's, and it was then that Draco was reminded of the final battle when Severus Snape, his own godfather, claimed that the girl was a pureblood, and not just  _any_ pureblood . . .

He had a hard time thinking about anything other than the words he had just heard.  _Did they say witnesses for the defence?_

Ten minutes later, Potter sat to the side between the Wizengamot and the rest of the crowd, and every eye was on him as he was questioned.

"And you are certain what you witnessed Mr Potter?" Greengrass asked clearly.

"Positive. Draco Malfoy told Professor Dumbledore that he was ordered to kill him because he and his family were being  _threatened_."

"But he  _admitted_ to plotting to kill him?"

"He wouldn't have. Dumbledore offered to protect the Malfoy family, and Draco lowered his wand. He wasn't going to kill him. I know it."

"But his actions directly led to the death of Albus Dumbledore. Mr Malfoy orchestrated the break-in of Hogwarts, did he not?" Gawain Robards interrupted.

"It wouldn't have mattered," Potter insisted. "I've submitted Pensieve memories as evidence for  _this_ trial, as well as for the exoneration of Severus Snape."

The crowd behind erupted, and even members of the Wizengamot turned red in the face and began shouting expletives in protest. Draco paled at the mention of his godfather, who he had not seen since the final battle.

"And is Master Snape too busy to grace us with his presence?" Robards said sarcastically, still clearly bitter that the man had turned out to have been a double-agent, thus getting away with any accused crimes.

"No," Potter said, glaring at him. "He's still recovering at St Mungo's after he nearly died at the hands of Tom Riddle."

"A quick recess then to look into this new evidence," Greengrass said.

Aurors filled the room, some escorting members of the Wizengamot away, others standing guard over Draco and his family as Potter and Granger were brought alongside the Minister for Magic and out the door. He had to force himself not to watch as Granger's mass of wild  _black_ curls bounced as she walked, fighting the urge not to publicly praise Merlin—or more accurately and sickeningly, Potter—that somehow, she had miraculously survived a war where she had been personally targeted just because she  _existed_.

A half an hour passed, and Draco was visibly anxious, his leg bouncing and his fingers fidgeting with the chains that bound his hands together. "What memories would Potter have?" he whispered under his breath.

"If I know Severus as well as I think I do," his mother said, her voice straining to hold back emotion. "Then one of  _your_ accused crimes is about to become my own."

"What did you say?" Draco's wide gaze turned toward his mother.

"Forgive me." She cupped his cheek with it affectionately. "It was not  _your_ job to protect  _me_. It was  _my_ job to protect  _you_."

"I don't understa—"

The doors to the chambers opened once more, and the members of the Wizengamot retook their chairs, but not before the Minister for Magic and the Chief Warlock shook Harry Potter's hand, thanking him for bringing the evidence forward.

As the whispers of the crowd died down, Greengrass retook his place among the seats. "In light of this new evidence," he said, his attention falling on Draco, "we amend the records to show that  _Narcissa_ Malfoy stands accused of aiding in the plot to murder Albus Dumbledore. That being said, we find neither her nor her son guilty of the  _actual_ murder, but the accusations will remain on the records for posterity sake. Now, let's continue." He gestured to Gawain Robards, who looked back to Potter.

Draco sat in stunned silence. He had plotted the murder of his former headmaster. Although it was  _Snape_ who had thrown the Killing Curse, Draco had still blamed himself for it. Yet, whatever memories that Potter handed over as evidence had somehow implicated his mother as well, and somehow neither of them were found guilty of the actual crime. Draco could not make sense of anything that had happened so far in the trial.

His attention was pulled back into the dungeon when he heard the words "Malfoy Manor" echo throughout the Chamber.

"And had you met the elder Malfoys before, Mr Potter?"

Potter nodded. "Yes, over the years."

"And how is it that they did not recognise you?"

"Hermione sent a Stinging Hex at me just before we were captured. It disfigured me a bit."

Draco had to hold back a snort.  _A bit?_

"But certainly Draco Malfoy would have known it was you?" Robards insisted. "The two of you attended school together for six years, and there is substantial proof that many altercations occurred between the two of you over the years."

"Yes, which I imagine was why they insisted that  _he_ identify me. But he didn't." Bright green eyes met Draco's gaze, and Potter almost seemed to smirk at him. Draco scowled in response out of habit but then shook the look away and responded by raising a confused brow.

"He didn't recognise you?" Robards asked.

"Oh, he  _did_. Even if I didn't look like myself, Malfoy, er, Draco," Potter corrected, and Draco made a face at him for using his given name. "He didn't say he recognised any of us. He  _lied_."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he knew what would happen. Bellatrix Lestrange would call Voldemort to collect us, and then he would kill us. Voldemort wanted to kill me himself, but Ron and Hermione wouldn't have been spared. Ron was a blood-traitor, and Hermione was a Muggle-born," Potter said, casting a look to the witch in question who seemed to stiffen at the words. "We'd all have been killed if it weren't for Malfoy."

 _I didn't do it for_ you,  _idiot._  The rebellious words floated across Draco's mind. He distinctly heard a loud grumbling snort come from behind him. It had to be the Weasel, especially considering how Granger's focus turned toward the noise, and she gave a scalding glare in its direction.

"And did either of the elder Malfoys attempt to divert the attentions of Bellatrix Lestrange? As you've said, she appeared in charge of the situation," Greengrass commented, his eyes glancing to Lucius.

"No," Potter said clearly, though he appeared conflicted. "No, they were adamant about finding out if it was really me, though Mr Malfoy especially wanted to be the one to hand me over. Though Mrs Malfoy was no less insistent  _then_ , she did, however, save my life later. And I would like the Wizengamot to take this into consideration. In the Forbidden Forest, when Voldemort asked if I was dead, it was Narcissa Malfoy who lied to him, looked him in the eyes and said I was dead when I wasn't. If it wasn't for her, I would not have made it out of the forest. I would not have defeated Voldemort."

Once again, the crowd erupted into whispers and murmurs, this time for so long that the Chief Warlock had to use a Sonorus Charm to get the attention of everyone in the room.

Draco turned to briefly gauge his parents' reactions to the declaration, but neither gave away anything. Unfortunately, he had to turn his attention back to the Wizengamot as Potter was dismissed. Taking his place was a girl he could scarcely look in the eye, which did not seem to be a problem for  _her,_ as she seemed resolutely determined not to glance his way.

"Miss Granger, I know this is a sensitive subject," Robards spoke softly as though Granger was a delicate flower. Draco rolled his eyes. He had seen the woman in action and knew that if the former Auror made one wrong move, he would be hexed on his back faster than a Firebolt flew. "Is it true that you were tortured within the Malfoy's home?"

The words triggered stress-induced nausea, something Draco had come to terms with as a Death Eater hazard over the past two years, and he looked away from the witch to avoid making it worse. Looking at her  _always_ made  _everything_ worse.

"Yes. Though, I strongly doubt I'm the only person to have been so. Bellatrix Lestrange hit me with the Cruciatus Curse," she said, pointedly leaving out the fact that Draco's crazy aunt also carved her arm up. "And she also attacked me at the final battle."

"With all due respect," Robards said, trying to gently guide her back to his question, "Bellatrix Lestrange is not presently on trial. She's dead. We're here to discuss the Malfoys."

"I  _am_ discussing the Malfoys," Granger snapped, her eyes narrowing at the man. "Harry's right. Draco didn't identify us when we were at the manor. And when it came down to it at the final battle, Draco gave Harry the wand that defeated Voldemort. He also . . . He also saved me. When Bellatrix came after me again, Draco took the curse she had aimed at me."

For some reason, he felt shame at her words despite the truth of them, and he looked away from her, doing his best to drown out the sound of her voice; it reminded him of the sound of her screams echoing in his drawing room. Somehow, it worked, and soon he watched as the witch retreated to a seat beside Potter.

"I now ask the Wizengamot," shouted Hyperion Greengrass, "to raise their hands if they believe that the crimes of Narcissa Malfoy deserve a sentence in Azkaban?"

Draco was pleasantly shocked when not a single hand was raised. He smiled genuinely as he felt his mother's hand clench tightly around his own and heard a small whimper escape her lips, though she was quick to silence herself as she turned her expression once again to stone.

"Very well." Greengrass looked to the Minister, who nodded as though giving permission to continue. "We find Narcissa Malfoy guilty of plotting the murder of Albus Dumbledore, and guilty of the imprisonment of hostages within Malfoy Manor. She is sentenced to one year of house arrest, during which time her wand will be confiscated, to be returned upon completion of her sentence."

Two Aurors approached them to unchain Draco's mother, and he frowned as she desperately clung to his hands, not bothering to give his father a passing glance as she was pulled away to have a Tracking Charm placed upon her person before she would be delivered back to the manor.

"I now ask the jury to raise their hands if they believe that the crimes of Draco Lucius Malfoy deserve a sentence in Azkaban?"

Draco let out an audible sigh of relief when only two hands raised—by people he had never even seen before in his life sitting in seats far in the back giving scowls forward at him and his father. He thought to take note of their names when they stood to remember this moment, but instead he revelled in the fact that, somehow, despite everything he had done, he was not going to go to Azkaban.

"We find Draco Lucius Malfoy guilty of plotting the murder of Albus Dumbledore, guilty for the use of the Imperius Curse, and the involuntary attacks on Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley." Greengrass gave a long pause. "However, given your age and under the circumstances of your bearing the Dark Mark, we believe that you—like many—are a victim of war. You are found innocent of all other crimes related to being a Death Eater."

The crowd behind broke into outrage, and Draco visibly recoiled, not wanting to break eye contact with the Chief Warlock. He was still, however, concerned for his own well-being, considering a large group of angry wizards shouted at his back. Who knew how many of them were willing to curse him over the pronouncement of his innocence?

"You are hereby sentenced to six months probationary magic where your wand will be examined on a monthly basis to look for signs of Dark Magic. You are required by the Wizengamot to make restitutions to the Wizarding community, including financing the rebuilding of Hogwarts."

Draco gave a quick nod of acceptance. Though he had originally planned to do so anonymously if given the chance, he was already more than willing to make a large donation to the school. While he had often complained about it, wishing he could have gone to Durmstrang instead, the past few years had taught him that Hogwarts should have been his place of sanctuary against the darkness that had been spreading in his home.

Before he could hear what would happen to his father, Draco was unchained from his seat and led out the doors of the dungeon where his mother was waiting for him in the hall. Quickly, she fell into his embrace and sobbed against his shoulder.

"What's happened? What's to be done with you?"

"Nothing." Draco shook his head. "Six months probation, and I have to rebuild the school." The words tumbled out of his mouth as he was still trying to process his sentencing properly as well. His mother responded by crying harder and holding him tighter, and he could only smile nervously, stroking his hand down the length of her hair to comfort her.

It was less than twenty minutes later when an Auror came out into the hallway and whispered to the guards.

"What's happened?" Draco asked.

"You're needed back inside," the Auror said and held the door open for him.

Draco paled at the thought that he might be called to be a witness in his own father's trial, but by the looked of the Wizengamot, they had made their decision regarding Lucius. Most of the members looked annoyed but smug, no one moreso than Sirius Black, who was glaring menacingly at Lucius. The crowd, on the other hand, looked displeased.

"Ah, young Mr Malfoy, please step forward," the Minister for Magic spoke with a smile.

Draco hesitated for a brief moment before doing so, casting a glance at his father who looked positively enraged.

"Lucius Malfoy, after being found guilty of all crimes, the Wizengamot sentences you to three years of house arrest. Due to the nature of your heinous crimes against the Wizarding world, as well as the endangerment of your own family, you are hereby stripped of wand privileges," Greengrass threw out the sentence.

Draco's eyes widened, and his father seethed. It was a light sentence all things considered, and Draco figured that enough votes had been purchased to keep his father out of Azkaban but not enough to bring down another, almost equally emasculating sentence. He knew that his father had lost his wand to the Dark Lord but had ultimately planned on replacing it, as had the rest of their family. Now, it appeared that Lucius was  _forbidden_ from doing so.

"Because you used your influence and name to further the power of the Dark Wizard, Tom Riddle," Greengrass continued, "you are hereby stripped of that influence  _and_ name. Your Wizengamot seat, financial holdings, investments, properties, positions, and titles are officially removed from your person, name and magic, and will be passed immediately to your son, Draco Lucius Malfoy."

Gasps were heard all around the room and immediately Draco lacked the ability to look at his father. Instead his eyes met those of Hyperion Greengrass, followed by those of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who stood and extended his arm to Draco.

"Do you accept this, Draco?" the Minister asked.

"I . . ." Draco's mouth fell open.

"You must accept it through a binding and take a Wizard's Oath."

Draco could not speak, but he nodded, not knowing what else to do.

"Mr Potter?" the Chief Warlock said. "If you're still willing, as we had addressed earlier . . ."

Potter stood in the crowd, receiving what appeared to be a look of acceptance from Granger and a look of resentment from Weasley before he made his way forward, approaching Draco and the two elder wizards.

"I don't understand," Draco muttered quietly as Potter approached, his instincts still telling him that the boy was an enemy and he needed to be on his toes, suspicious of any movement. Like a serpent, Draco kept his eyes on Harry Potter, as though waiting for him to strike.

"To take a Wizard's Oath, one needs a wand," Shacklebolt explained.

Draco's heart leapt into his throat as Harry Potter pulled a wand from his robes.  _His_ wand. Draco's hand shook as he quickly moved to take it, drawn to the object with great longing. Just before his fingertips could wrap around the handle, he paused and looked up as though waiting for permission.

"It's yours, Malfoy," Potter insisted, handing over the Hawthorn wand.

The moment the small piece of wood connected with his hand, Draco let out a slow breath as he felt the magic course back through him, calling out to him as though the wand was reconnecting with its master, enjoying the feeling of wholeness again. Unable to utter a word of thanks, Draco merely nodded his silent gratitude, his gaze looking briefly over Potter's shoulder where he made eye contact with Granger; she smiled, and Draco felt a strange calm come over him.

"That's the wand that defeated Voldemort," Potter quickly pointed out, and Draco's eyes widened. He had almost forgotten. "Do us all a favour, Malfoy, and keep up its trend of good magic."

Unable to look at him a moment longer as Draco's pride threatened to fall, he gave Potter a curt nod before turning his attention back to the Minister for Magic, who held out his wand hand. Draco took it, and the two held one another's forearms, nothing between them save their wands.

Greengrass pointed his wand above them and, as he spoke, two long silver strands of light erupted from the tip, wrapping themselves around Draco's and the Minister's hands.

"Do you Draco Lucius Malfoy, accept the responsibilities as the new Head of your House? Do you willingly take upon yourself the positions, titles, properties, and all powers attached to the Head of the Malfoy House?"

"I will," Draco almost whispered the words.

"This is outrageous! He is a boy and is not ready!" Lucius bellowed behind them.

"Restrain him if necessary before placing the Tracking Charm on him," Greengrass insisted as two Aurors quickly moved to secure Lucius.

Draco watched as the silver strands around him and Kingsley pulsed, swelling with magic before vanishing, and he reflexively removed his wand, placing it securely in his robes, hoping to never lose it again.

The Wizengamot was dismissed, and Draco was led back toward his mother where they sat, guarded by Aurors as the crowd was directed out toward the Atrium.

When Sirius Black stepped through the doors, standing aside as Potter and Weasley moved on either side of Granger, leading her quickly away, Draco stood to see where they were going only to be met with Aurors acting as though he were going to attack the people who had just saved his life.

"Cissa," Black said, pushing past the Aurors and hugging Draco's mother, who looked like she was struggling with the urge to burst into tears. "Everything's going to be fixed now that this is over. I've got a long list of shit I need to fix before the Black Estate is properly settled, but once I'm done, I'm making sure that you're all right." He turned and looked at Draco. "The Wizengamot feels that you should return to Hogwarts when it reopens this fall to retake your seventh year. It'll give room between yourself and Lucius to allow you to run your House without his influence. There will be plenty of people available if you need help."

Draco nodded, disliking everything that had been said with the exception of not living in the manor for another year. Still, going back to Hogwarts had not been in his plans.

"Sirius," his mother whispered. "We . . . We have to talk. Is the girl—?"

"I'm not talking about that," Black said, his expression darkening.

"I mean her no harm."

"No? You left  _that_ to Bellatrix, didn't you?" Black said and then immediately turned and walked away.

"Sirius! Sirius, you don't know everything about Regulus!"

Without looking back, he shouted, "No one does!"

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this does mean that Hermione and Draco are technically second cousins. No, you do not need to point this out to me, I was aware of it before I wrote it. It's well known that the Black family and most pureblood families intermarried for generations. If it's not your cup of tea, I totally understand.


End file.
